


Cowboys and Angels

by Kim J (notluvulongtime)



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Equal Rights, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Major Illness, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 20:28:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/904559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notluvulongtime/pseuds/Kim%20J
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a rocky year home, Kathryn and the Doctor struggle to save one another and in the process, redefine what it means to be human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Let me start off by saying – I’m a die-hard J/C’er; always have been, always will be. This is my attempt to write J/Emh as part of VAMB’s 2008 Secret Santa Exchange. The recipient wanted a fic that seriously chronicled a romantic relationship between the Captain and the Doctor - with some humor thrown in.
> 
> It was an interesting and – I’m not afraid to admit it – personally fulfilling writing experience for me. The pairing’s not something I’m gung-ho about, but the assignment made me realize how much in love I am with Voyager – not just J/C. Even if you don’t believe in or like J/Emh (but you trust the way I handle characters in general), please give this fic a try. It says more about humanity than anything Trek-oriented I’ve written yet.
> 
> Much thanks to elem for her eagle-eyed betas and sending me just the right “ornament” to keep me going. Big hugs to Corinna, my plot beta, for her encyclopedic knowledge of TNG, the fantastic banner, and her unending reserve of patience.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Lyrics to “Cowboys and Angels” and “We’re All Light” are by George Michael and Andy Partridge respectively. Paramount owns all things Trek – which hardly rises to the level of Proust or Voltaire, but I suppose is satisfactory enough entertainment for mere organics.

*

 

_That scar on your face_

_That beautiful face of yours_

_In your heart there’s a trace_

_Of someone_

_Before_

*    *    *

 

Lieutenant Marconi had piloted them back to the outer reaches of the Alpha Quadrant before Kathryn’s agitation became too strong to ignore.

 

As she sat on the bridge of the Prometheus-class _USS Chimera,_ she could tell that the armpits and chest of her grey undershirt were soaked through with sweat.  She’d been wracked with insomnia for the past three nights straight.  Their mission to aid a Borg rebellion spawned from Unimatrix Zero had reached an impasse and she was bringing the vessel home for more than just ship repairs.

 

Something in her biological make up was very, very wrong.

 

“Commander Hitchens, you have the bridge.”

 

“Aye, Captain.”

 

Kathryn stepped into the turbo lift and the doors closed.

 

“Deck six.”

 

As the apparatus began to descend, she could feel her stomach drop with it.  Nausea wrapped itself around her tongue, filling her mouth with a sharp, sour, metallic taste.  The edges of her vision distorted –

 

“Computer, halt turbo lift!”

 

The door opened.  She was on deck three.  As soon as she stumbled into the corridor, her mind cleared, her heart beat returned to normal and the strangle-hold on her neck lifted.

 

Without thinking about the how or why, Kathryn made her way to an adjacent Jeffries tube, intending to climb down the remaining levels to sickbay.  The close confines of the tunnels were no better, but at least she could keep moving.  Kathryn counted each rung on the ladder to keep her focus. 

 

She’d lived with the malady for too long. 

 

In the beginning, it had been easy to dismiss it as homecoming stress; she was the only former crewmember of Voyager to request a deep space mission so soon after arriving back on Earth.

 

Kathryn had good reason to escape into her work.

 

*    *    *

 

Arriving home ahead of schedule saved lives, but it didn’t stop the inevitable.  From the moment they’d made it through the hub and Kathryn asked Chakotay to take Tom’s place at the helm, she watched closely as Seven hovered next to him and knew with painful clarity that her time with her first officer had come and gone.  The subsequent three months of debriefing had kept former drone and commander apart, but their relationship had since picked up.  The last Kathryn had heard of the couple, they were living in Arizona.  Together.

 

Now every aspect of the ship was in the process of analysis to better Starfleet.  Every crewmember had flown off in various directions, scattered to the winds like so many grains of sand.  Gretchen, Phoebe, her nieces and nephews – they all tried to fill the aching gaps and in return, Kathryn tried in vain to play the good daughter, sister, and aunt.  But still, she thought of nothing but Chakotay.  It was wrong to be so selfish, but she couldn’t help it.  Her regret became a series of never-ending, circular reasoning and to counteract the debilitation it brought on, she buried herself in work after the usual month or so of reunions. 

 

She felt nothing but loneliness in a sea of new and old faces.  The only way to keep her thoughts at bay was to continue in what she did best.  Kathryn accepted a commission on the Chimera several months before – complete with a new crew that was as bright-eyed and optimistic as Voyager’s had been seven years before.  Her first day had been spent getting to know each ensign and lieutenant. 

 

She found herself mentally tagging the ‘Harry,’ the ‘Tom,’ and the ‘B’Elanna’ - even as she guessed her new charges could never measure up to the expectations her old senior staff had earned over the years.   She was still too embittered by Chakotay’s choices to see him in anyone, however.  Kathryn went as far as distancing herself from Commander Hitchens, her first officer.  She couldn’t bring herself to institute the weekly dinners of yore to discuss ship’s business, even as the reverential man could never remotely be her type.   Instead of feeling at home on the new ship, each comparative nuance just made her feel…old.

 

It didn’t help that her joints ached and every bite she took in her quarters and in the mess hall seemed to go right to her belly.  She’d had to expand the waist of her uniform by several centimeters in the last four months.  No amount of exercise seemed to whittle it down.

 

As Kathryn arrived in front of the sickbay doors, she mustered whatever was left of her dignity, sucked in the slight pooch of her abdomen, cleared her throat to bring forth the husky, commanding tones she was known for, and strode in.

 

She hoped it was enough to hide the fact that she was scared shitless.

 

*    *    *

 

Dr. Jacqueline Pulaski was someone Kathryn had been avoiding her entire time captaining the Chimera.  The young woman was fresh out of Starfleet Medical, a prodigy in her twenties and well-versed in 24th century medicine.  Jacqueline was the youngest daughter of Katherine Pulaski, who had served on the Enterprise-D.  The Pulaskis held together a long bloodline of doctors, but they weren’t so much known for their expertise as their brusque, by-the-book bedside manner. 

 

Normally Kathryn would have welcomed such objectivity, but the symptoms she had been suffering from had reached its peak.  She needed a kind look, words of encouragement and a comforting pat from a fellow female.  If someone had told her she was avoiding Jacqueline Pulaski because her blond up do, blue eyes and voluptuous figure reminded her of Seven, well - she would have denied it.

 

Dr. Pulaski motioned Kathryn onto the biobed and ran her tricorder over the woman’s body.

 

“Tell me your symptoms, Captain.”

 

“I’m tired, cranky – “

 

“How’s your coffee consumption?”

 

Pulaski was too busy eyeing the readouts to catch Kathryn’s best death glare in a year.

 

“Fine.  How’s yours?”

 

Jacqueline gave a condescending smile the captain wanted to shatter.

 

“Feeling flushed all the time?  Night sweats?  Trouble sleeping?  Excess weight gain?”

 

“Yes, yes, yes and _yes_.  You can tell from just a tricorder?”

 

The blonde doctor took a hyposyringe from the pan next to her and took a blood sample without warning Kathryn beforehand.  Within a few seconds, the apparatus beeped its results.

 

“Hmm.  Just what I thought.  Your FSH levels have increased and your estradiol is significantly lower – “

 

Kathryn was moments away from taking a swing at the young woman.

 

“English, Jacqueline.”

 

“You are in the late stages of perimenopause,” the doctor said matter-of-factly.

 

“But that’s impossible!  I’m too young to – “

 

“How old are you, Captain?”

 

Kathryn’s eyes narrowed.  The Pulaskis were known for an almost photographic memory when it came to, well, just about everything.

 

“You should know from my medical charts – “

 

“I’m sorry, Captain, but you never came to see me for the preliminary physical when the Chimera was docked in Deep Space Nine.”

 

She gritted her teeth.

 

“I’m forty-two.”

 

Pulaski tipped her head to one side and eyed her thoughtfully.

 

“Well, it’s quite rare, but not unheard of,” she moved to the office in the back, calling out as she punched in a few commands in her computer, “I could give you a PADD filled with the necessary information on menopause…”

 

Jacqueline returned and handed her the data.

 

“There are several treatments suggested.  I advise that you read through all of them with an unbiased viewpoint before I let you know my own personal opinion.  The statistics favor a few plans of action, but I like all of my patients to have objective, fully-informed attitudes before a consult.”

 

Kathryn stared blankly at the doctor and wanted to throw the PADD at the woman’s head. 

 

The Captain was sure she looked about ready to burst a blood vessel, yet Pulaski had the nerve to spread an icy smile across her face.

 

“Look on the bright side, Captain.  I hate having my period.  You should feel liberated. You won’t have menstruation or the threat of pregnancy to interfere with your command any longer.”

 

*    *    *

 

Kathryn eyed the chronometer for the sixth time in the last four minutes. 

 

It was well after 0300 hours and she couldn’t get to sleep.  She’d adjusted the ambient temperature of her quarters to a chilly 13 degrees centigrade and slept in the nude for good measure.  Still, it wasn’t enough to keep the hot flashes from emerging periodically throughout the night.  A crippling cramp had moved its way down her right calf, ending at her fourth toe, and curling the digit at an impossible angle.

 

She wanted to scream in both pain and humiliation.  How could any of this be happening?  Kathryn was willing to accept just about anything else the Delta Quadrant had thrown at her – alien scientists using her head as a pincushion or an endless loop of Mark chastising her in full hallucinogenic regalia.  She could even go back and have lizard offspring with Tom Paris; at least in that galaxy, she was fertile.

 

But this – this was entirely, absolutely, irrevocably unfair.  And there was no one onboard she could trust to talk about it with.  The PADD on menopause by her bedside lay cold, unread.  Kathryn didn’t need information on what she was going through; she was living it.  And she had a nagging suspicion that all of it was unnatural – that something she had contracted in the Delta Quadrant had entered her system and lay dormant until an unknown variable had triggered her symptoms.

 

As she mentally troubleshot her physical ailments, Kathryn’s thoughts naturally turned to the Doctor.  Besides sharing seven years on one ship together, he was the unequivocal expert on Delta Quadrant medicine.  If Kathryn had been on Voyager and he remained her Chief Medical Officer, the trip to sickbay that evening would have gone differently.  Sure, in the beginning he’d been equally blunt as Dr. Pulaski had been, but his efforts since then to experience humanity in all its good and bad trappings had evolved him into a practitioner she trusted more than anyone else. 

 

Kathryn knew that the EMH would have stayed silent, his face a soft mixture of concern and patience as she recited her symptoms.  He would have consulted any vast number of different databases in his program and run several tests to rule out an alien involvement or imprint.  The Doctor had become a gentle skeptic, someone who cogitated fiercely as though he had been suffering the same malady as his patient.

 

Sleep was no longer an option.  Kathryn needed to move around.  The walls of her quarters were closing in and the claustrophobia was coming back.  She pulled on her nightclothes and wrapped a robe around her form in an attempt to hide what she had grown to think of as her ‘chunkiness.’

 

She stepped out into the corridor, but the turbo lift seemed to taunt her from the end of the hallway.

 

“Computer, site to site transport to sickbay.”

 

*    *    *

 

As Kathryn shimmered into the room, she knew she’d be alone.  Pulaski had long ago retired to her quarters.  The bay was bathed in ten percent illumination, but she wasn’t there to run any of her own tests or study the doctor’s database.

 

“Computer, activate the EMH.”

 

The blond Mark II shimmered into existence.  What was it with sandy-haired physicians?

 

“Please state the nature of the medical emergency.”

 

Kathryn eyed him with a fraction of hope.

 

“Oh, Captain Janeway!  I’m honored to meet you!  T-There’s so much I’ve heard about the Mark I’s achievements and what you accomplished in the Delta Quadrant – “

 

This was nothing like she expected.  An EMH fan?  The experience was too surreal.

 

“ – I’m sorry, Captain.  I’m forgetting myself.  Are you in need of medical attention?”

 

“Actually, I was wondering if your database contained any information on Delta Quadrant medicine.”

 

“Unfortunately, no.  My programming isn’t cleared for that kind of information.  The Chimera is only outfitted for Alpha and Beta Quadrant exploration – “

 

“I see.  So if this ship were to get stranded in the Delta Quadrant _again_ , we wouldn’t be prepared?”

 

The EMH was at a loss for words.  He could count on one holographic hand how many times he’d been activated during the course of the Chimera’s virginal mission and hadn’t expected such an intense interrogation on the part of the captain.  His subroutine didn’t factor in a defensive posture, so he merely began to stammer again.

 

“Never mind.  It’s not your fault.  I’ll bring it up with Starfleet Command when we get home.”

 

A hot flash hit Kathryn once more and she flung her robe off in one swift movement.  She grasped the hem of her nightshirt and began flapping it up and down in a fan-like motion. 

 

The EMH averted his eyes as he caught a glimpse of breast.

 

“Is there anything I can do for you, Captain?”

 

“Actually, you could tell me what you know about menopause.”

 

His face lit up at the promise of being of use.

 

“Menopause!  From the Greek root _meno,_ meaning ‘month’ and _pausis,_ meaning ‘halt’!  A permanent cessation of menstruation – “

 

Kathryn dropped her head into her hands before craning it back to look at the ceiling.

 

“Can we skip ahead?  I think I’m familiar with the biology and while I appreciate the etymology – “

 

“Actually, there’s something very interesting in my database.  Did you know that the Grandmother Hypothesis suggests that menopause evolved in humans because it promotes the survival of grandchildren?  Post-reproductive women … Foraging grandmothers… “

 

As his words began to slur into themselves, Kathryn was on the verge of decompiling his program.  Her misguided goal had been to remind herself of the wonder that was the Doctor, but this upgrade had ended up being a piss-poor facsimile of what she remembered –

 

“ - In the ancient past, menarche and menopause were considered to mark the transitions from ‘maiden’ to ‘matron’, and from ‘matron’ to ‘[crone](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crone)’ –“

 

_Crone?_

 

“Pausis!” she cried.

 

“Captain?” The EMH nearly jumped out of his holomatrix, but as the flapping of her garments continued, his humor subroutine kicked in and he offered up a good-natured chuckle, “Oh, I get it!  ‘Halt’!  Very clever, Captain!”

 

Her death glare couldn’t penetrate photons and force fields.

 

“Computer, deactivate the EMH.”

 

With that, Kathryn exited sickbay and made her way to the nearest Jeffries tube to climb back up to deck three.

 

If she was going to be sweating all night, at least she could get some exercise out of it.

 

*    *    *

 

As soon as the Chimera docked at McKinley Station, Kathryn took a copy of her medical report and beamed down to Starfleet Medical. 

 

Several months after arriving home, the Doctor’s database had been analyzed and incorporated into Federation research.  He’d accepted a position working at the main facility in San Francisco, helping any former denizens of Voyager or future Delta Quadrant travelers with his unique brand of medicine.  Kathryn hadn’t seen him since Voyager had first docked and she was looking forward to catching up.  After what she’d been through with Pulaski and the Mark II, the captain knew she needed to speak with someone she trusted.

 

The section where the Doctor worked was like any hospital.  He had his own office – a room lined with books Kathryn had assumed was for decoration, and a golf bag and clubs in one corner.  On the wall hung plaques commending him for his work in the Delta Quadrant, as well as an honorary doctorate degree from a distinguished music academy in Florence.

 

She paced the room in his absence, worrying about what he would tell her.  Kathryn had given his nurse the PADD and was assured that he would be going over her data before their meeting.

 

The door cracked open.  A familiar smile and pate peeked from behind.

 

“Hello, Captain – or should I say, ‘stranger’?”

 

For the first time in a long while, Kathryn smiled.  She underestimated how much his tone put her at ease and she stopped pacing.

 

“Hello, Doctor.”

 

He gestured to a patch of floor in front of the bookshelf.

 

“That threadbare area over there is usually where my patients give the carpet a good once-over,” he came up behind a chair, “Or you could do something completely out of character and sit.”

 

He was jovial, relaxed.  Kathryn thought the slight change in him was due to a positive transition from ship to Earth, but she couldn’t help but feel a bit unnerved.  For a split second, her instincts told her something was off.  In the end, she chalked up the feeling to the paranoia that came with her symptoms.

 

The Doctor walked around his desk and placed the PADD in front of him.

 

As he was about to launch into his diagnosis, Kathryn decided to interrupt.

 

“Before we get into that, I thought I’d apologize for not coming to see you sooner.”

 

He laughed a little.  Kathryn felt self-conscious, bracing herself for the usual quip –

 

“We’re both busy, Captain.  It’s all a part of moving on, I suppose.”

 

For a moment, Kathryn read the subtext under the light-hearted tone and wondered if they were kindred spirits.

 

“How’s Seven?”

 

His smile didn’t break.  It didn’t even twitch.

 

“Doing splendidly the last time she came by for a check up.  I’ve done physicals for almost the entire crew at this point.  I’m flattered that they consider me the ‘family doctor.’  And that Miral – she is going to be a beauty.”

 

“Have you visited Tom and B’Elanna?”

 

“I can’t without assistance.”

 

Kathryn shook her head.

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

His grin was unsettling.

 

“Oh, that’s all right.  It’s a bit difficult for me to get used to as well – not having my mobile emitter anymore.”

 

How could he be so cavalier about something so serious?  Suddenly Kathryn forgot about her own medical problems.  Had she become so cynical that she found the Doctor’s sunny demeanor jarring?  Even so, instinct told her to keep her concern hidden.

 

“I see.  Where is it now?”

 

“At the Daystrom Institute.  But don’t worry, I’m fine.  I enjoy my position here – “

 

“What about your hobbies?  Your golfing – “

 

“They have a holodeck for surgical simulations on the third floor.  They let me use a program that’s quite enjoyable.  When Dr. Bashir is on leave, he sometimes accompanies me.”

 

 _They let me._   To a stranger, his phrasing would be right in line with a hologram’s placement in organic society.  But to anyone intimately involved in his progress, this was tantamount to devolution.  Starfleet Medical was beginning to look like the Doctor’s personal prison. 

 

Her concern for his welfare overrode any neuroses she had about her own ailments.  The second opinion she needed was no longer for herself.

 

“I’m going to Tom and B’Elanna’s for dinner tonight.  We should go together.”

 

“I’d enjoy that.”

 

His answer both relieved and terrified her.

 

*    *    *

 

The Doctor was lucky that the Paris abode was the one place certain to have holoemitters in every room.  Post-partum, B’Elanna had developed an allergic reaction to animal dander – as had Miral.  The only way they could have a pet was through Tom’s “Toby” program, a Golden retriever puppy that was his pride and joy. 

 

Dinner was over.  Paris pulled his former captain into the kitchen as B’Elanna showed her holographic guest the recent renovations to their home.

 

“Something’s wrong with Doc,” he began, his brow furrowed.

 

Kathryn kept quiet.  The only way she’d be sure it wasn’t her own paranoia was if Tom could echo her thoughts without a hint or a prompt.

 

“I can actually…tolerate him.  It’s like he’s been – “

 

The pilot shook his head before finishing his thought.

 

“You know, there’s this classic 20th century holovid B’E and I were watching the other night called ‘The Stepford Wives.’  It’s about a town full of lobotomized women designed to serve their men.  It’s dated and chauvinist.  And I’m glad it’s not real.  But the Doc – he’s become…I mean, where’s the sarcasm, the elitist opinions?  He’s just completely and utterly…”

 

“Lobotomized.  So I’m not the only one.  Good.  Now we’re getting somewhere –“

 

A hot flash hit her in that moment and Kathryn rushed over to the window and opened it.  A heavy downpour raged on outside, leaving the air windswept and chilly.

 

Tom hugged his arms for warmth.

 

“Captain?  Are you all right?”

 

Kathryn quickly regained control of her internal temperature and closed the pane, locking it.

 

“I’m fine,” she covered, “It’s the Doctor I’m worried about.  Did you know they took away his mobile emitter?”

 

“I was told it was being repaired and that he’d get it back.”

 

“It doesn’t appear that way.”

 

An unusually dazed and pale B’Elanna walked zombie-like into the kitchen.

 

“B’E?  Is Miral - ?”

 

He’d never seen her so pensive.

 

“Miral’s fine.  Never better.  The Doctor’s singing her a Klingon lullaby.  A _lullaby_.  And not Verdi or Puccini.  _Klingon_.  For _my_ benefit.”

 

B’Elanna’s hushed tones gave way to a confused anger. 

 

“Since when does he do _anything_ for my benefit?!  Captain, I want to do a maintenance check on the Doctor’s program.  What do you think?”

 

It was Tchaikovsky to Kathryn’s ears.  Finally, she was home.

 

“Do it.”

 

*    *    *

 

“It’s not noticeable to the untrained eye, but the Doctor’s definitely been tampered with.”

 

They were gathered in B’Elanna’s home office.  She had uploaded the EMH’s program into her computer, his form standing stock-still as she made her assessment.

 

“Certain subroutines have been shaved off so that the differences seem miniscule.  His ethical subroutines are intact; cognitive ones are up-to-date, and the creative subroutines are still there.  But the codes have been reorganized in order of priority.  Singing, dancing, and artistic self-improvement – all of those hobbies – have been pushed down the list.  And his personality has been cleaned up.  Over the years, I’d noticed a few erroneous linkages, but I left them knowing that it might tamper with the Doctor’s development.  Those linkages are now gone.”

 

Tom leaned over her shoulder to get a better look at the console.

 

“So that explains his lack of sarcasm tonight.  But why would anyone go to such lengths to…sanitize him?”

 

B’Elanna looked up at her mate with a grave expression and tapped the screen to open up a new scan.

 

“It might have something to do with this,” she continued, “Whole blocks of data having to do with medical advancements he made in the Delta Quadrant have been excised.”

 

She pointed out a data patch.

 

“If your work was being suppressed, wouldn’t you object?  And we all know what the Doctor’s like – “

 

“Maybe Starfleet doesn’t want him accidentally spilling trade secrets to the Dominion.  They could just program a stop-gap measure – “

 

“That’s too much work for them, Tom.”

 

Kathryn’s soft husky voice finally introduced itself into the conversation.  She was sitting on the couch in the back, cradling a sleeping Miral, unable to take her eyes off the little girl.

 

In the middle of the maintenance check, Tom had left the room to retrieve both a data PADD and deal with a crying baby.  When he came back, Kathryn had offered to help with either issue and without thinking, Tom handed over Miral.

 

It startled her, but it made sense.  Miral was Kathryn’s goddaughter.  But since menopause hit, she’d been unable to focus on the big picture due to increasingly uncomfortable symptoms.  She hadn’t thought about having children in a long while; she wasn’t even sure if she’d make a good godmother.  But holding Miral unearthed long buried wishes and hopes she’d had with Mark – before the Delta Quadrant had punched a hole in her life and in who she was as a human being.  If she could no longer conceive, did it make her less than any other person who could?  If she stopped producing the hormone that made her female, did she stop being female?

 

“Starfleet doesn’t see the Doctor as a person,” she continued, “So they don’t have to treat him with the same courtesy as they would you, B’Elanna or myself.  To them, he’s just property.  And everything he’s done, all the hard work and advancements he’s made - to both himself and the field of medicine – belongs to Starfleet.”

 

B’Elanna nodded in agreement.

 

“Including his mobile emitter.”

 

“ _Especially_ his mobile emitter.”

 

Tom began to pace.

“So what do we do?”

 

“First, we need a backup of his program.”

 

“I don’t have one,” B’Elanna sighed, “And I doubt anyone at Starfleet is just going to hand it over.”

 

Kathryn stared at Miral’s long, feathery lashes and savored the whispers her breath made, curling up from her Cupid’s bow lips.

 

“It’s a long shot, Tom, but I’m going to talk to your father about this.  It will mean revealing that we know what they’ve been doing – “

 

“Dad won’t tell anyone.”

 

“No.  Not if we keep this amongst ourselves,” Kathryn handed the little girl back to her father.

 

“For now.”

 

*    *    *

 

Back in her apartment, Kathryn’s conversation with Owen had been frustrating.

 

Although Admiral Paris hadn’t known anything specific about the handling of the Doctor’s program, he fell firmly in line with other bureaucrats who believed that holograms didn’t have equal rights to humanoid life forms.  Once she realized Owen’s position could never be changed, Kathryn focused on getting enough information to formulate some kind of plan.  She had nothing specific in mind, but she was sure of one thing:  the Doctor needed a champion, someone to fight for him.  He had saved countless lives in the Delta Quadrant and he deserved no less.

 

Her insomnia, the stomach cramps, the layers of clothing she wore – they all weighed down on her daily.  She wasn’t eating well.  Exercise was an exercise in futility.  And the depression of losing so much of her Voyager family to their new lives was a strain she hadn’t been prepared for.  Kathryn knew that if the Doctor had been himself at Starfleet Medical, she wouldn’t have had to endure so much of this physician-patient song and dance she regularly avoided.  Kathryn never stopped to think that she preferred a hologram to a flesh and blood doctor.  Because in her reality, the Doctor was often more flesh and blood than the real thing.

 

After replicating her usual cup of morning coffee, Kathryn sat by the window and looked out into the street, thinking about the last time she’d talked to him. 

 

Safely ensconced in the Alpha Quadrant and readying itself to come back to Earth, Voyager buzzed with activity.  Each member of the senior staff spear-headed a different set of protocols before docking at McKinley Station.

 

Kathryn remembered being in her quarters, reluctantly packing up her things, when the Doctor had paid her his last visit.

 

*    *    *

 

_The job was taking far longer than she anticipated.  Various mementos were strewn across the floor and each time she picked up something new, it brought her back to the moment she’d acquired it.  Ten or more minutes would pass before she could bring herself to wrap it loosely in a piece of cloth or paper and place it in the cargo container._

_A soft door chime issued a welcome interruption to what had become a maudlin activity._

_“Come in.”_

_The Doctor entered.  He had a book in one hand and a tricorder in the other._

_“Good evening, Captain.  Normally, I frown at having to do a ‘house call,’ but it appears you are the last person on Voyager due for a pre-dock scan.”_

_“I’m sorry for putting it off.  Thank you for remembering.”_

_He set down the book and began taking her readings._

_“Captain, I’ve been meaning to ask you for a letter –“_

_“It’s already been done.  I’ve suggested that you be offered a position at Starfleet Medical, although it’s my personal opinion that you could work just about anywhere.”_

_“Thank you.  It means – “_

_For a moment, Kathryn could see a glimmer of sadness in the EMH’s eyes._

_The Doctor cleared his throat._

_“Suffice it to say, I’m glad we agree, considering how often we haven’t.”_

_He finished the readings and reattached the tricorder to his belt loop.  The Doctor then picked up the book he had left on the table._

_“I’ve been meaning to return this to you.”_

_It was_ La Vita Nuova _.  Following his ethical dilemma regarding Ensign Jetal’s death, the Doctor asked to borrow the tome Kathryn had been reading during the nights she stayed up with him on the holodeck.  She’d forgotten it had been missing from her collection._

_“I’ve bookmarked a favorite passage with a written note of thanks.  I want you to know how much I appreciate the times you’ve stood by me, when I’m sure decompiling me would have been easier.”_

_“You’re most welcome, Doctor.  As far as I’m concerned, you’re an integral part of this crew.  I’m sure I’ve never served or will ever serve with a better Chief Medical Officer.”_

_The EMH looked pleased then, his supercilious grin re-emerging._

_“Naturally.”_

_He turned to leave and Kathryn sunk to the floor, back to the task at hand._

_“Captain?”_

_She looked up to see him half-turned in the threshold of her open doorway, his figure rigid and shrouded in silhouette._

_“If I don’t see you for a long, long time, I want you to know that out of all the organic life forms I have ever met, yours is the friendship I have regarded as the turning point of my…well…_ life _.”_

_She had seen him go from arrogant to melodramatic once before. Kathryn smiled warmly, knowing what he would need to quell his holographic jitters.  Truth be told, she was just as nervous as he.  Both of them regarded Voyager as home.  This was no time to take anything too seriously.  If they did, they might both fall apart._

_Kathryn leapt up, covered the remaining steps between them, and gave him the warmest hug she could offer._

_She turned her neck slightly so she could whisper in his ear._

_“Break a leg, Doctor.”_

*    *    *

 

_…If I don’t see you…_

In silhouette, she couldn’t remember what his face had looked like, but she was sure a twinge of something more than nervousness had laced his words.

 

It was foreboding.

 

Kathryn went to the guest room where all her unopened cargo containers were.  She found the one labeled “books” and brought it down to her level.  Sure enough, Dante’s tome of courtly love poems lay on top of the pile.

 

She fanned open _La Vita Nuova_ and a single envelope in rough card stock fell out.  Kathryn tore it open to find both a letter and a small data chip.  She began to read:

 

_Dear Captain,_

_I’m guessing that in the hectic coming days, this letter might be forgotten or put aside.  Still, I meant every word, every bit of gratitude I’m certain I expressed at our parting.  And if you see me a week, a month, a year hence – and I am exactly as I was when I left Voyager – then this bit of correspondence will be moot._

_But if I seem altered and less than the robust, inquisitive, engaging and otherwise erudite physician-singer-dancer-golfer-pianist (insert additional hyphenates here), then hold this data chip closely to your breast and protect it with your life._

_What you have in your hands is a backup copy of my program.  After our bit of litigation with Mr. Broht and his publishing empire, I am no longer optimistic about how I’ll be received on Earth.  In fact, I daresay I have a sixth sense - that goes beyond what argument grouchy Lieutenant Torres might give - about what will happen to me._

_If I am wrong – which scarcely happens – then I am willing to set aside my prejudices against organics.  If however, I am correct, it is my ardent wish that you find someone who can ensure that I exist.  I don’t expect you to risk your career and reputation.  I only hope that you find someone who believes passionately about the sanctity of holographic life the way I do._

_Your friend,_

_The Doctor_

It must have been the hormonal fluctuations.  Kathryn stared at the last paragraph for a full minute before realizing that tears were streaming down her face.

 

Holding the chip in her hand, she picked up the book with the other and studied the page where the Doctor’s favorite passage lay:

_My eyes saw how much pity_

_Was_ _apparent in your face,_

_When_ _you gazed at the attitude and form_

_That_ _I often appear in through grief._

_Then I understood that you would know_

_The_ _nature of my hidden life,_

_To_ _that I felt fear in my heart_

_Of_ _showing my misery in my eyes._

_And taking myself away from you, I felt_

_That_ _the tears rose from my heart,_

_Which_ _were summoned by your look._

_Then I said to my sad spirit:_

_‘It must be that Love lives within this lady_

_Who_ _makes me go weeping so.’_

She closed the book and collapsed in the wing chair by the window overlooking the Bay.

 

Kathryn decided immediately that only one person could fight for the Doctor.  One person alone.

 

She.

 

He had picked her favorite passage by happenstance.  It had been years since she’d revisited the pages, but new circumstances had given them more personal and profound meaning.  It had been no secret on Voyager that the Doctor loved Seven.  And it didn’t matter whether or not the crew knew Kathryn had been in love with Chakotay.  She shared a kinship with the Doctor that went beyond their love of science and their indomitable spirits.

 

They had loved and lost.

 


	2. Part Two

*

 

_I know you think that you’re safe_

_Mister_

_Harmless deception_

_That keeps love at bay_

_It’s the ones who resist that we most want to kiss_

_Wouldn’t you say?_

*    *    *

 

It was like being at the bottom of the ocean and then rushed to the surface in a fraction of a second.

 

No, wait.  It wasn’t like that at all.  There wasn’t any human equivalent to describe the sensation of being shut off and turned back on again.  It merely was.

 

“Please state the nature of the –“

 

He “woke” to an office and the first person he saw was a worn, but happy Kathryn Janeway.

 

“- Captain?  Where am I?”

 

B’Elanna sat behind a desk, her eyes focused on a computer console as she tapped in various commands.

 

“We’re in your office at Starfleet Medical.  I’d rather we do this at home, but the holoemitters are on ‘the fritz,’ as Tom would say.  This was the only place we could test out your backup systems without arousing suspicion.”

 

On impulse, the Doctor patted down his left arm.

 

“My mobile emitter?”

 

“Held hostage at Daystrom,” Kathryn replied.

 

His shoulders slumped at the realization.

 

“So it happened.”

 

“Yes.  I’m sorry, Doctor.”

 

“How long have I been…‘off’?”

 

Before anyone could answer, the lobotomized EMH materialized before them.

 

“Please state the – “ the clone’s eyes went wide upon seeing his twin, “Who are you?”

 

“I’m _me_!  Who are you??”

 

Kathryn stood up from the couch.  Another hot flash was about to hit.

 

“B’Elanna?”

 

The ex-chief engineer was frantically tapping away.

 

“I’m sorry, Captain.  I activated the Starfleet EMH by accident – “

 

The clone moved to exit the room.

 

“Security!  We have an imposter!”

 

The Doctor blocked his way.

 

“What imposter?  _You’re_ the imposter!”

 

Both holograms began to tussle and when it appeared the sanitized one was about yell again, something on the computer console beeped.  The clone’s mouth opened but no sound issued forth.

 

B’Elanna sighed.

 

“That was close.”

 

Suddenly, the Doctor’s double disappeared.  B’Elanna’s eyes went back to the screen; she shut them tightly.

 

“Oh no.”

 

Kathryn was fanning herself with a large news PADD from the side table.

 

“What now?”

 

“You won’t believe this, but I think I’ve just erased the other doctor.”

 

“Good!” the real Doctor snapped.

 

“No.  Bad.  This means you’ll have to impersonate the ‘nice’ version of yourself.”

 

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.  I’m always pleasant, congenial, personable – “

 

The door chimed.  Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing.

 

“Well, answer it!” B’Elanna hissed.

 

The EMH scurried behind the desk while both women moved to sit in two chairs opposite, trying to look natural. 

 

He cleared his throat.

 

“Come in?”

 

The receptionist approached him with a stack of PADDS.

 

“Doctor, your ten o’clock is here.”

 

He smiled a little too broadly.

 

“Yes, thank you for reminding me…Nurse.”

 

She gave him an odd look before leaving. 

 

As soon as she was gone, all three sprung back into action.

 

The Doctor tapped the screen and his schedule for the day came into view.  Kathryn watched from across the way as his eyes went wide in alarm.  He keyed in a few commands.

 

“Ah, Captain.  I’ll have to take this next appointment.  It appears to be rather urgent, but I’m sure it won’t take long.  Why don’t you and Lieutenant Torres stay in my office in the meantime?”

 

Kathryn took him aside before he reached the door.

 

“Doctor, it’s very, very important that you maintain a low profile.”

 

“Any specific instructions?”

 

“Be…nice.”  Kathryn was too busy fending off a cyclical heat wave to consult with a thesaurus.

 

“Don’t try to be funny,” B’Elanna offered.

 

“ _Try_?”

 

“Be earnest.  Earnest is good,” the captain added.

 

“So I’m not earnest. Wonderful.”

 

“Just,” Kathryn clenched her teeth, “try not to be you.  It’s a matter of life or decompilation.”

 

*    *    *

 

If there was a Hologram Hell, he was in it.

 

The Doctor had barely enough time to understand the five w’s – the who, what, where, when and why – before being thrown into a consultation that was beyond what he had anticipated upon arriving on Earth.

 

He had opened the door to Patient Room 5 to find his ten o’clock - Commander Chakotay with his arms around Seven, her wonderfully lithe, shapely form beneath a clinical gown.

 

“Doctor!” she broke contact with her mate long enough to embrace her mentor.

 

“Seven.”

 

“ _Annika,_ ” she corrected.

 

“Of course.  Annika.”

 

His arms came around her, but all he wanted to do was run away.  He glanced at Chakotay over her shoulder.

 

“Commander.  How are you both?”

 

The captain’s words buzzed in his ear.  He itched to produce a stinging barb of some kind.  Damn, it was so easy.  Take your pick – whether it was about assimilation or scalping chieftains – you name it, he had it.  But no, in order to bring the Doctor back to a world that obviously didn’t want him, the captain had risked too much to let her down.  For the first time in his existence, the EMH was going to trust his life in the hands of an organic.

 

“Well,” Chakotay took Seven by the waist and smiled down on her, “Annika thinks she might be pregnant.  And we’re here to be sure, one way or the other.”

 

Luckily, the Doctor had seen the report before he’d entered the room, but still, the word ‘pregnant’ hung heavy and shocking in the air.

 

“Doctor?”  Seven looked at him with concern.

 

“Yes!  I apologize.  It’s been a busy day so far.  Seems like yesterday I was on Voyager…”

 

He grabbed a hyposyringe and motioned for her to offer up her neck, that swan-like, creamy expanse of skin –

 

“I also requested that we do a DNA scan for fetal abnormalities – “

 

“Sev- Annika, it says here that your last menstrual period was four weeks prior – “

 

“You question my accuracy?  I assure you, Doctor, that ‘placenta brain’ - as quaint a phrase as I’ve come across - is much too early to have occurred here – “

 

“I’m not debating your ability to remember, but it’s my professional opinion that it’s too early to ask for a scan.  You’re a healthy, vibrant - obviously fertile - young woman and the commander is – well, he’s obviously –“ The Doctor sighed as he measured himself up to Chakotay, “an above-average humanoid specimen from which to help you procreate – “

 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Doctor,” the commander smugly interrupted.

 

The EMH couldn’t help but glare back with what shred of dignity he had.

 

“- but nonetheless. It. Is. Too. Early.”

 

The testing apparatus beeped.  Although he instinctively knew the answer, The Doctor looked it over, hoping it could make the situation seem less unreal.

 

“Congratulations…Commander…Annika.  You are indeed…pregnant.”

 

As he observed the couple exchange looks of love, a squeezed hand, a kiss on the cheek, the Doctor realized he had front rows seats to a part of his world that was falling apart.  He had been Seven’s bridge to humanity – from removing offending Borg implants to tutoring her in the social graces.  The only thing he could never give her was a child.  Nevertheless, in the beginning, the Doctor and the Captain had been the only ones fighting for her existence onboard Voyager.  Had the Commander forgotten that at one point, he’d opened an airlock intending to jettison Seven out into space? 

 

This was entirely, absolutely, irrevocably unfair.  And now, he had to be present for every sickeningly-sweet gestational moment for the next nine months? 

 

“As difficult as it will be to find an equivalent replacement of my caliber, I suggest you find an obstetrician in Arizona.  I wouldn’t want traveling such a long distance to become an unnecessary strain…for _all_ parties concerned – “

 

“But Doctor,” Chakotay interrupted, “you’re the only practitioner with extensive knowledge of her remaining implants.  Annika is the first of her kind to carry a child.  You’re the best.”

 

“That is true,” The Doctor gritted his holoteeth, “But I could easily have her medical charts sent to me, examine them and supplement the data with my advice.”

 

Seven looked skeptical.

 

“That would not be sufficient, Doctor.”

 

The EMH decided that extreme thinking was the only way to appeal to these two.

 

“Rest assured, I’d love to be there every step of the way for you lovebirds.  But speaking as the child’s overly-concerned and thus, biased unofficial ‘uncle’ - and although it’s highly unlikely to happen - a malfunction between Arizona and my office could occur.  I might end up greeting a premature fetus without its mother on the transporter pad.”

 

A look of horror passed between Seven and her mate.  Although his cruel choice of words had conjured up a grisly image, the wounded Doctor found relief in his own dark sense of humor.

 

“Couldn’t you come to me?” 

 

He had a love/hate relationship with Seven’s quick thinking.  But in this case, the Doctor didn’t have to exaggerate.

 

“I would, except Starfleet won’t allow me the use of my mobile emitter.”

 

For once, the couple was stunned silent.  Perhaps it was news to them as well.  The EMH had a feeling that most of the crew hadn’t had time to stop and think about his welfare – unless it had to do with them.  What was the existence of one hologram in a world run by organics?

 

“So you see, although I am the greatest practitioner of my time, I am also the most disabled.  But not to worry!  I’m sure I’ll find a suitable referral close to your residence.  I doubt you’ll want to move away from the sunny climes of the Southwest to the chilblained dampness of the Bay just for me!”

 

He moved towards the door, signaling the end of their appointment.

 

“You’ll be due for another check-up in one month.  If you don’t find a replacement in time, you’re welcome to set a date to see me.  Just make sure you talk to my receptionist on the way out.”

 

“Thank you, Doctor,” Seven smiled warmly.

 

 “You’re most welcome.”

 

His eyes dropped as he forced a grin.

 

“And again, congratulations!  Remember to celebrate!  Have a sip of champagne and a bite of cheesecake…for me.”

 

*    *    *

 

As an emotionally-taxed Doctor left room five and turned to walk back to his office, he spied Kathryn in the waiting room closest to the exit and panicked.  She was standing under the ceiling vent, stripped down to a T-shirt, her sweater and cardigan folded up in her arms.

 

He mentally ran down the mere minutes it would take for Seven to get dressed and be on her way out with Chakotay.  The Doctor knew of the captain’s uncomfortable relationship with the commander after his romance with the former drone had become public.  This was neither the time nor the place for any kind of professional reunion. 

 

He spun on his heels back towards room five and entered again without knocking.

 

Luckily, Seven was already clothed.  The couple were about to leave.

 

“Doctor?”

 

“Actually, I’ve changed my mind.  Since I have you here, I’d like to run that DNA test after all.  I’d also like to take another blood sample to look at your nanoprobe count and compare it to an embryo scan –“

 

Chakotay and Seven exchanged looks of alarm.

 

“- It’s probably nothing.  But if I can detect any trace of nanoprobes in the developing child’s bloodstream – well, you know what they say about ‘early detection’?  Ha. We wouldn’t want Junior assimilating everyone in daycare, now would we?”

 

The joke fell flat, but the Doctor didn’t care.  Appealing to new-parent paranoia was the only way he could keep the couple in the room while he tried to get the Captain back into his office.

 

“I’ll get a nurse.  You’ll wait here?”

 

Both Chakotay and Seven nodded, concerned.  She was holding her belly protectively.

 

The Doctor stepped back out into the hallway, closed the door behind him and took a cleansing breath.

 

“My life…in triage.”

 

*    *    *

 

“Captain?  Are you all right?”

 

She was flushed and more irritable than usual – if that was possible.

 

“I’m sorry, Doctor, your office is…stuffy…”

 

“When was the last time you had a physical?”

 

“On the Chimera.”

 

As if that meant anything.

“By whom?”

 

“Jacqueline Pulaski.”

 

That meant nothing to him as well.

 

“Come with me.”

 

The Doctor and captain approached the first patient room lining the hallway.

 

“Computer, is eight vacant?”

 

*Affirmative*

 

*    *    *

 

Kathryn held her breath as the EMH, _her_ EMH, ran the usual set of scans.  She watched his furrowed brow deepen with every tap of the console.

 

“Well, don’t hold me in suspense.  I’m a big girl.  I can take whatever you’ve got.”

 

“It’s not that, Captain.  I just can’t be sure what it is.  At first glance, it appears your symptoms are in line with menopause, but you’re having them with more frequency and at a higher level than other women during this stage.  Furthermore, your medical history suggests that you are experiencing this life change – on average – ten years too early –“

 

“But you don’t have access to that kind of data.  How can you make that kind of prediction?”

 

“Remember during our second year in the Delta Quadrant when I required a detailed family medical history along with a full DNA map per crewmember?”

 

“How could I forget.  The PADD I looked at was almost forty megaquads of interrogation.”

 

“Well, I made it my duty to commit each senior staff’s DNA map to memory.  Just in case we were ever stranded somewhere and I didn’t have access to the ship’s database.”

 

As he continued taking readings and filling various hyposyringes with blood and sweat samples, Kathryn looked at him with a combination of newfound respect and admiration.  His devotion went way beyond his responsibilities as an EMH.

 

“That’s…quite impressive, Doctor –“

 

“All in the line of duty, Captain.”

 

“No, it’s not,” she stopped him by taking the tricorder out of his hand, “I don’t think we ever knew what we had in you.  And I promise I won’t let your existence fall by the wayside again.”

 

He smiled at her then and she could feel something connect.  Something had changed between the time he’d been reactivated and now.

 

The Doctor placed the test tubes in a small tray and moved towards the door.

 

“Captain, I have to take these back to my office for safekeeping until I have access to a suitable lab.  I’d like to test for anomalies that any less sophisticated physician would miss.  But in the meantime, please stay in this room.  I’d like to do a bone marrow scan, but it will require my staff setting up the equipment.   It will take just a few minutes.”

 

She nodded.  Normally, the idea of being in any doctor’s office for longer than the required time made her feet itch to high-tail it out of there.  But she trusted him. 

 

While enjoying the first comforting moment she’d had in ages, Kathryn forgot to warn the Doctor about one thing -

 

*    *    *

 

He opened his office door, set the clinking test tube rack high on the shelf closest to him, looked towards his desk and nearly jumped out of his holomatrix.

 

“Reg?!”

 

Lieutenant Barclay and B’Elanna were hunched over his computer.  This was turning out to be a farce of a first day.

 

“Sorry to startle you, Doctor, but it couldn’t wait,” the half-Klingon was holding a tiny circular object between thumb and forefinger and probing it with a microdriver.

 

Reg got up and gave his startled colleague a welcoming hug.  The EMH was too surprised to relax into it.

 

“It’s not that I’m not ecstatic to see you, but what’s going on?”

 

B’Elanna held up the small piece of technology and placed it in Barclay’s palm.

 

The circlet was the size of a ring.  On the outside, it looked like any normal piece of jewelry – made of steel, titanium or platinum – but the inner rim was lined with embedded circuitry that gleamed with a bluish tint.

 

“Behold,” Reg trumpeted proudly as B’Elanna shushed him.  He continued in a whisper, “Behold, the latest in mobile emitter technology –“

 

“This is – but how -?”

 

“During your time with Lewis, when you saved his life, he took a great interest – well, we both did – in your mobile emitter.  While we updated some of your subroutines, I came across the rough schematics in one of your databases – “

 

“But poly-deutonic alloy is unknown to this century –“

 

B’Elanna smiled proudly.

 

“I snuck into a lab where One is currently being dissected.  If you remember, his body is made up of poly-deutonic alloy - after Seven’s nanoprobes fused with your mobile emitter.  Reg only needed a gram or so of the metal.  I was in and out of there and even had time left on the babysitter meter to go out to dinner with Tom.  Anyway, it’s nothing Starfleet would miss.”

 

The Doctor was overwhelmed with gratitude.  He never knew the extent of how much his ‘father’ loved him, or how much he considered Reg to be a brother, but to have B’Elanna risk her livelihood as well – with Miral to add to the stakes – left him speechless.

 

Speechless enough to cause worry.

 

Reg turned to B’Elanna.

 

“You s-s-s-s-said you erased the clone?”

 

“I…did.”

 

Suddenly, the Doctor enveloped Reg in as bone-crushing a hug as a hologram – force fields at maximum – could give.

 

“Thank you.”  For once, his voice sounded small, “Thank you, both.  This means more than you could possibly know.”

 

When Reg was finally set free, he placed the ring in the Doctor’s hand.

 

“Well, go ahead.  Put it on!”

 

Once the emitter was on his right ring finger, the Doctor expected a full transformation of something, but felt nothing.

 

Reg read his concern correctly.

 

“Well, you won’t know until you enter a floor with no holoemitters or you leave the building – which you’ll have to do in disguise – but we can test something else.”

 

B’Elanna piped in.

 

“I’ve added some security measures into the device – so that it’s fused with your holomatrix until you deem it otherwise.  Also, you have the option to disable the magnetic containment field should someone try to capture you.”

 

“The secret agent stuff was my idea,” Reg gloated, “But you have the captain to thank for the idea of making it into a ring.   No one will be able to tell it’s a piece of the most sophisticated technology in the galaxy.  And it’s the only one of its kind as well.”

 

“I’ll guard it with my life.”

 

B’Elanna smirked.

 

“Just lay low, Doctor.  I know that will be work enough – “

 

His hands came up to his bald pate.

 

“Work!  I completely forgot about a patient I have waiting – “

 

As he rushed out the door, Reg and B’Elanna exchanged happy shrugs.

 

*    *    *

 

It was after hours and the Doctor knew the seventh floor had no holoemitters, but it was the only floor in the building equipped with the state-of-the-art lab equipment he needed to test the captain’s blood serum.  His backup module had included the vast database containing every major discovery, every formula.  It was as though every trick in the book was ingrained in his mind – had he ever been born with one.  Being of artificial intelligence certainly had its perks.

 

Even though he had uploaded a copy of himself – programming it to reactivate should the new mobile emitter fail – the Doctor knew Reg would make good on the prototype.  The ring was far better than the previous device.  It was as lightweight as the Starling version had been, but making it into a piece of jewelry had made it seem less like a reminder of his mortality and more like a gift of hope between friends.

 

And most importantly, its inception had been organized and revitalized by the Captain herself.  Someone he now wanted – more than anyone – to put at ease.

 

He placed a drop of her blood on the slide and placed it under the scope at a high magnification, pressing the keys to bring up the view screen.  What he observed made his eyes widen with confusion. 

 

It had to be a mistake.

 

“Computer, run a DNA scan of blood serum sample zero-one-alpha.”

 

*Scan complete*

 

“Whose blood is this?”

 

*Serum corresponds to file of human female, Captain Kathryn Janeway*

 

His expression changed to one of alarm.

 

“Computer, save lab results and transfer to PADD zero-one-alpha and exit program.”

 

*Download complete*

 

The Doctor grabbed the PADD, erased any residual files that would mark his presence in the lab and exited hurriedly.

 

He had no time to waste.

 

*    *    *

 

The ring provided quite a wardrobe of different disguises – including hairpieces (which the Doctor regarded with much derision) – and in the end, he decided upon his “President of Earth” disguise from Tom’s Captain Proton program:  a simple suit, spectacles and a Homberg hat.  The outfit was completed with a black trench that kept him in line with other hovertrain passengers keeping themselves warm and dry from the consistent downpour.

 

He arrived on the captain’s doorstep at 2300 hours, ready to incur her wrath should she be asleep.  But knowing enough about her symptoms, the Doctor had a feeling she’d be wide awake instead.

 

He heard a scuffle and a muffled “Coming!” before footsteps padded their way towards him and her face appeared behind a crack.  Her eyes went wide and the door flew open.  The captain clutched the neck of her bathrobe with one hand and pulled him in by the lapels of his trench with the other.

 

Once both were inside, she slammed the door and moved to the window to make sure the coast was clear.  As she spun around, the Doctor could finally see the Kathryn beneath the captain’s mask – her hair in disarray, her face unmade, her choice of attire more comfortable than comely.  But none of it sparked judgment in his cognitive subroutine.  She was still – the Captain.

 

Which was more than evident as her hands went to her terry-clothed hips.

 

“Doctor!  Do you have any idea what we’ve gone through to bring you back?  Not twenty-four hours have passed, so you’d better have a damn good reason to be here – “

 

“Captain, please sit.”

 

His choice of words were free of superfluous witticisms, further punctuating the seriousness of the situation. What he was about to convey needed her complete attention.  It was a relief when she didn’t protest further and merely led him to her living room area.

 

They sat opposite one another and the Doctor tapped his ring twice.  A beep issued forth and his clothing changed back to that of his Starfleet Medical uniform.  He held the PADD in his hands.

 

“Is that the results of all your tests?”

 

“I only had to do one, but yes.  I looked at your blood serum this evening – “

 

She surprised him by snatching the device from his grasp.

 

“Captain – “

 

She tapped the file open and scrolled down until she saw what the Doctor had observed earlier.

 

Silence filled the space between them and as she looked up, he could see a glimmer of fear in her eyes.

 

“Nanoprobes?  But how, where –“

 

“I went to my office and combed through my module for your medical history for the last seven years.  Your only exposure was during the Unimatrix Zero mission.  I am one-hundred percent certain that I had removed every implant, every shred of Borg technology from all of you – Tuvok, B’Elanna, yourself.  The only explanation I can offer is that some of the nanoprobes had learned to adapt, camouflaged themselves from detection and stayed dormant in your cardiovascular system until something signaled a reactivation sequence.

 

Captain, they are attaching to the hormones in your blood, mimicking the cells they’ve invaded.  Your endocrine system believes you are in overproduction of these hormones so it has effectively shut itself down.  This is why you are experiencing symptoms of menopause.”

 

She visibly swallowed, letting the diagnosis sink in.

 

“And the prognosis?”

 

“At the rate of their proliferation and without treatment – you will have roughly three months to live before your organs fail.”

 

“I see.  I don’t suppose you have a treatment already in mind?”

 

“I have a few ideas, but the time frame involves immediate study and access to current databases and lab equipment.  You need to check yourself into Starfleet Medical right away – “

 

“Oh, no.  You can treat me here.  You can come like you did tonight – “

 

“Until someone finds out, arrests you and everyone I care about, decompiles me and then you die anyway?  I refuse to go along with that, Captain.  No, if we do this, it needs to be legitimate.  I’m going to need access to information Starfleet would not normally allow a hologram – even with my background.”

 

“Then what do you suggest I do?”

 

“I want this out in the open,” When she was about to protest, he anticipated it, “ _Not_ your illness, per se – I won’t violate doctor/patient confidentiality – but I need to be granted the freedom that every _person_ within Starfleet is allowed.  Petition a tribunal, Captain.  I can’t do this if I’m treated like a mere tool.”

 

“No one will find out about my illness?”

 

He shook his head with more vehemence than he’d ever shown.

 

“You have my word.”

 

“And you won’t let anyone else treat me?”

 

 “If that’s your wish.  But you have to do something for me in return.”

 

He could see the wheels turning as an eyebrow went up.

 

“Here it comes.  What?”

 

“You _will_ be a cooperative patient.”

 

She chuckled then, nodded her assent and gripped his shoulder.

 

He couldn’t bring himself to laugh.  In a flash, her smile curved into a frown; after knowing her for so many years, he could guess correctly that she thought his terse expression was due to self-worry.

 

She couldn’t have been more wrong.  For the first time in his entire existence, The Doctor no longer cared if he was free or imprisoned.  Activated or deactivated.  The tribunal had nothing to do with him; it was a means to an end.  A way to prolong his existence so that he could save her life.  Deep in his programming, the Doctor knew his chances of acquiring human status were slim to none.  What drove him was an unnamed reason for being.  It was sparked by something new and foreign to his make up – something he couldn’t describe in words – but was stronger than anything he’d experienced and was entirely too real.

 

He offered the best encouraging smile he could and she gave him a brave one in return.

 

“Let’s do it.”


	3. Part Three

*

 

_I know you think that you’re safe_

_Sister_

_Harmless affection_

_That keeps things this way_

_It’s the ones who persist for the sake of a kiss_

_Who will pay_

*    *    *

 

Once the Doctor had come forth and revealed himself to be the real McCoy (pun intended), the tribunal was a foregone conclusion.  He was willing to absorb every charge thrown at his colleagues – Zimmerman, Reg, B’Elanna and most certainly, the Captain – if Starfleet Legal was willing to bring his rights as a sentient being up for serious consideration.

 

During the subsequent hearings – during which Janeway never left his side – every Voyager crew member who had worked closely with the Doctor gave testimony.  Tuvok had just finished his _fal-tor-voh_ on Vulcan and had arrived in time to represent the EMH.  The proceedings were a more detailed  and formal version of the lawsuit involving Mr. Broht. 

 

This time, a full Goliath ‘Supreme Court’ panel  - representing Starfleet brass, engineering, science and command divisions - sat across from a David that felt – despite a multitude of crewmen devoted to Chief Medical Officer and Captain – entirely derived of one hologram and one stubborn, single-minded organic.

 

The Captain had learned from her experience with Mr. Broht that any testimony involving the Doctor’s usefulness outside his programming was not enough to prove that he was a person.  She and Tuvok changed legal tactics by instructing former crewmembers to offer up instances where the Doctor had bettered _himself_ in his ability to experience emotion. 

 

Tom sat in the box and recalled the moment the EMH confronted feelings of grief upon his daughter’s untimely death, instead of deleting the holographic family he had created.  B’Elanna – who kept a record of every maintenance check and copy of the Doctor’s logs – read aloud his first entry, an entry that described falling in love with Denara Pel.  B’Elanna testified that at that early date, he hadn’t had permission to alter his program in any way – and yet, he was able to experience the “marked inefficiency” love had produced in his daily work habits.

 

The real clincher should have been the Captain’s testimony.  She recalled the Doctor’s ethical crisis following the death of Ensign Jetal.  Having chosen to treat his “friend,” Harry, over Jetal, the Doctor experienced a feedback loop between his ethical and cognitive subroutines, making him run over the same scenarios again and again.  She believed that he had developed the feeling of guilt - in a manner that was both inexplicable and unprecedented in any hologram.

 

Surely all of it was enough to prove that he was human.

 

As he sat impatiently in the courtroom – fully aware of the precious time ticking by - the Doctor knew it was a rehash of old arguments.  In the end, no one on Earth could be sure if the holographic physician’s human-like qualities were a result of spontaneous evolution or something he or the engineering crew on Voyager had added to his programming.  He could see B’Elanna growing frustrated, questioned tenaciously on the stand for her veracity regarding the date and time of each maintenance.  And she visibly bristled at the notion that she would lie to keep him intact.

 

He was proud of her and he loved them all for coming forward.  He knew it wasn’t enough to give him the rights he deserved, but it was enough to convince him that he’d lived a fuller life than any organic could have in three times the lifespan.  He could tell from the look on the panels’ collective face that the verdict would be the same as it had been previous.

 

_Yes, I’m different.  And I scare you.  I remind you that you are imperfect.  Don’t you realize that your imperfections make you…perfect?_

As the days dragged on, the captain was growing weaker by the hour.  The first morning her seat beside him stood empty was the morning he decided to show his hand.  The Doctor took Tuvok aside and – against the Vulcan’s advice - asked for a recess to confer privately with the tribunal.

 

As the door to the conference room closed behind him, he offered the most reassuring smile he could give Tuvok, knowing that behind the usual frown reflected back was a small measure of faith.

 

*    *    *

 

The conference hadn’t taken more that fifteen minutes.  Time and circumstance had shown the Doctor that brevity was truly the soul of wit.

 

The panel called the hearing back into session and after each judge took his seat, Admiral Paris began to speak.

 

“Will the petitioner please rise.”

 

The Doctor stood up and his eyes caught movement in the doorway to his left. 

 

It was the Captain.  

 

Her hair was perfectly coiffed, her uniform starched and pressed.  Only he could tell from the dullness in her irises and the way she leaned on the jamb for support that she should have stayed home.

 

He motioned for her to sit in the chair closest to the door, but she misread his gesture and with great dignity, interrupted the proceedings by walking the full length of the courtroom to her place beside him.

 

She didn’t sit.  She took his hand in hers.

 

For the first time, he was struck by how he couldn’t feel whether she was warm or cold. 

 

And was struck also by how much he wanted to know.

 

Admiral Paris cleared his throat, but offered up only the straightest of poker faces.

 

“The Tribunal hereby grants the petitioner a probationary period of three months, during which time said petitioner is given full access to all databases and technological implementation commensurate with his profession.  Petitioner will be confined to the custody of human guardian Captain Kathryn Janeway. 

 

During this probationary period, no one associated with Voyager, Jupiter Station, or the Pathfinder Project is allowed access to the petitioner, so that Dr. Leah Brahms, Director of the Theoretical Propulsion Group, can monitor the behavior of said petitioner in a controlled environment and determine whether he is – in fact – human and deserving of all rights therein.  If, at the culmination of those ninety days, the petitioner has not proven his humanity with the diagnostics agreed upon, he will be decompiled with no further action towards appeal.  This hearing is now closed, to be reopened in three months time.  We are adjourned.”

 

*    *    *

 

She was beautiful when she was angry.

 

“I stay away a few hours and you make a deal behind my back?!”

 

All he could think about was getting her home.  Dr. Bashir had already received a data PADD inventory of all the equipment he needed to be delivered to her apartment.

 

“Captain, it was the only way – “

 

“The Doctor is correct.  It would not take a mind meld to predict the panel’s consensus.  We did not prove our case,” the Vulcan concluded.

 

She glared at the Doctor, apparently too weary and frustrated to keep up the volume.  Her eyes flitted back and forth between himself and Tuvok, seemingly unsure of what to reveal in their argument. To anyone else, the deal involving an in-house lab set-up was just an extension of the Doctor’s job – which he would do by remote during the three-month observation period – and not part of the cure-finding mission it really was.

 

“Tuvok, I need to speak to the Doctor in private.”

 

With an understanding nod, the Vulcan left.

 

When they were alone, the captain reached out to grab the back of a chair and almost fell to the floor before the EMH rushed over to catch her.

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered as he held her in his arms, “But I can’t let you do this – “

 

“Do what?” he frowned at her, incredulous, “Offer up my program for the equipment that will save your life?  Captain, haven’t you been listening for the past few days?  It’s an even swap as far as they’re concerned – technology for technology.”

 

She looked up at him, and to his great surprise, he saw the corners of her eyes produce tears that filled the pink crescents of her lower lids.

 

“I know what pure technology is.  And I’ve met humans less feeling and compassionate than you are.  Don’t ever let me hear you say that again.”

 

It was the most she’d ever said to him, about him.  Suddenly, the vision of her before him fluttered, skewed slightly and then cleared just as quickly. 

 

He blinked and reached for his belt loop that held a hypospray.

 

“I have an analgesic combined with a mild stimulant.  It’s enough to get you back on your feet temporarily.  We have to get you home.”

 

*    *    *

 

On a crowded hovertrain, Dr. Leah Brahms sat hunched over – a tool kit on her lap - going over holographic maintenance protocols on a data PADD.  She was several stops away from the correct one that would lead her twenty or so meters off from Captain Janeway’s residence.

 

It was not an assignment she was enthusiastic about by any means, but Lt. Commander LaForge had been part of the Doctor’s panel that week and she owed him a favor that was past due for collection.  The first name that sprung to Geordi’s mind regarding an engineer unbiased enough for the three-month task had been hers.  In their quick conversation over the view screen, he recalled how incensed she had been upon discovering the holographic replica he had created of her to aid him in refining the Enterprise-D’s engines.  She’d never been a fan of holotechnology; it was a subject they often sparred good-naturedly about over the years during their engaging friendship.  Within a few minutes of catching up with Geordi, Leah decided to look beyond the drudgery of the project and see the challenge for what it was.

 

Could a sentient hologram be human?

 

After accepting the job, she then paid a visit to Lewis Zimmerman, who briefed her rather tersely about the intricacies of the Mark I EMH and all the updates that had been made since Voyager arrived home.  The holoscientist was particularly proprietary about the Doctor’s new mobile emitter and after a passive-aggressive conversation that went nowhere, Leah agreed to let the Mark I keep the state-of-the-art trinket.  Zimmerman gave her a PADD containing instructions on setting new security protocols for the mobile emitter as a way to keep the Mark I under ‘house arrest’ and prevent anyone but her from accessing his program.

 

Over the next ninety days, she was to make bi-weekly visits to download copies of pertinent subroutines.  Any mathematical anomalies would be recorded and examined.  Neither Zimmerman nor Barclay would be privy to any of this information.

 

To Leah, the Mark I was a just a technological curiosity, nothing more.  She never stopped to realize that the Doctor’s “life” was in the hands of a cerebral skeptic – a skeptic who regarded her holophobia with some measure of common sense and pride.

 

*    *    *

 

“Thank God that woman’s gone,” Kathryn yawned as she replicated her usual cup of joe and was about to take a sip, “Talk about someone whose sentience needs to be proven.  She gives me the willies – “

 

As the Doctor entered the room with a stack of PADDs from his makeshift office, he snatched the mug from her grasp without looking.

 

“You’ve had your two cup limit.  No more coffee.”

 

He sat on the couch and lined the PADDS on the low-lying table, frowning at them before looking up and gesturing her to sit across from him.

 

Hands went to hips, death glare at maximum.

 

No effect.  Damn.  With a sigh, she plopped down next to him.

 

“Scoot over.”

“I beg your pardon?”

 

She felt him tense up, but ignored it.  Kathryn needed the comfort of proximity.  And if she was going to be edgy from lack of caffeine, he sure as hell would have to join her.

 

“You can drop the professionalism, Doctor.  You’re in my home - not at Starfleet Medical - and we’re friends.  And if we keep up this seriousness one moment longer, I’ll be forced to stop and think about my mortality and have a nervous breakdown.  Understood?”

 

If a hologram could develop a lump in his throat, it appeared the EMH had.  He swallowed.

 

“Yes, Captain.”

 

“And I think it’s time you called me by my first name.  We’re not on Voyager anymore and I’m not your commanding officer.”

 

“Yes, Cap-Kathhhryn.”

 

“See, that wasn’t so bad.”

 

He cleared his throat and pointed out the PADDs on the table.

 

“I have three possible treatment regimens I’ve researched – “

 

She picked up the first file and began to read.

 

“Already?  We’ve only been home a few hours –“

 

“You forget I’ve been in court and containment for the last seventy-two hours.  That’s more than enough time to come up with some solutions.”

 

She scrolled down and shook her head.  Strike one.

 

“Omicron particles may kill nanoprobes, but the radiation is lethal to humans.”

 

The sides of their heads touched as the Doctor leaned over excitedly and tapped a few keys.

 

“But the Denobulan immune system has both the capacity to fight off nanoprobes and withstand omicron radiation.  In the 22nd century, a Denobulan doctor by the name of Phlox – “

 

Kathryn glared over at him, causing him to look up.

 

“ – if we could alter your DNA to mimic that of a Denobulan – “

 

Her frown deepened.  She knew of Phlox.  Most importantly, she knew what he looked like – a distant cousin of a certain Talaxian – and had no intention of spending the next three months with ridges and spots as part of her physical appearance.

 

The Doctor sighed – his enthusiasm gone - and placed the first file down. He then picked up the next in line.

 

“On to treatment number two.  We could use a batch of Seven’s nanoprobes to – “

 

“I’d rather die.”

 

Strike two.  The Doctor picked up the final PADD on the table and offered the smallest of smiles.  He realized how stupid he had been to have even uttered her name.

 

“You’ll be happy to know that I saved the best for last – nanites!  Nanites are microscopic robotic devices that can be programmed for surgery on a cellular level.  Just think of them as non-Borg nanoprobes - tiny Voyagers fighting the Cubes and Spheres residing in your body!”

 

She could feel his anxiety mount as she scrolled down the PADD and read the information he had gathered.

 

When she was finished, she placed a hand on his knee and felt him tense up once more.

 

“Doctor, this is remarkable.”

 

“But it will take weeks to program the nanites.  During which time, your health will only deteriorate further and the nanoprobes will have increased in number.  I highly suggest you consider letting me irradiate areas of high concentration with a sublevel dose of omicron particles.”

 

She could see what seemed like desperation in his eyes and realized that it was time.

 

Time to really let go of her command and let him lead.

 

“When do we start?”

 

*    *    *

 

The Mark I seemed more agitated than usual. 

 

The first time Leah had met him, she expected the solicitous attitude he gave her and had been forewarned ahead of time about his tendency towards snooty sarcasm.

 

However as the weeks wore on, his demeanor never improved.  For a being whose very existence depended on her good opinion of him, the EMH wasn’t exactly winning her over with an attitude that was consistently more rude than genial.  It was as if the mere idea of proving his humanity was a nuisance to him instead of a key priority.

 

“So Doctor, how are we doing this week?”

 

Like clockwork, the mobile emitter was set to transfer copies of his subroutines by remote to the data PADD in her lap.  The mere minute the upload took seemed to last forever since their small talk had never progressed past the usual comments on the weather – which she realized was inane since the Mark I couldn’t really go anywhere to appreciate anything of the kind anyway.

 

“I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough,” was his clipped reply.

 

At this point in the one-sided attempt at conversation, the Doctor’s eyes drifted to a certain bedroom door beyond.

 

Leah rarely saw the Captain during her visits and the Mark I never commented on her absence from the living area or his office.  Observing Janeway wasn’t part of the job; nevertheless, Leah’s curiosity grew the more reclusive she appeared to be.  She wondered what kind of woman would champion a hologram.  Leah had often heard sordid stories of holosex affairs – wives who left their husbands for an addiction they couldn’t explain or control.  On her train rides back to her office, she often wondered if the relationship between captain and EMH had ever entertained the idea or if it had progressed in such a direction already.  Leah would then shudder at the thought and turn her mind to something else. 

 

In the end, it was nothing more than a prurient interest to fill an idle restlessness.  It had been almost three weeks since the start of this grand experiment and so far, she detected no changes or anomalies.

 

*    *    *

 

The Doctor waited by the window and watched Dr. Brahms disappear down the walk before closing the blinds tightly and locking the door.

 

He rushed into his office, grabbed a tricorder and several hyposprays before hurrying back out and opening Kathryn’s bedroom door.

 

Her mattress was empty, the three blankets piled on top thrown aside in noisome disarray.  The Doctor glanced in the direction of the master bathroom and heard the familiar sound of running water behind the closed door.

 

He opened it to reveal a sink almost overflowing with water and Kathryn kneeling on the floor, her head over the toilet bowl.  The tile echoed with the sounds of her retching in pain.

 

He ignored the sink and rushed to her side.  She immediately collapsed into him, her bathrobe and hair thick and wet with vomit, her skin pale, her lips blue.  Despite the warm air in the room, she was shivering, spent from what must have felt like hours of emptying her insides, her soul.  Over the last three weeks, she’d lost well over six kilograms.  Despite the changes the Doctor had made to strengthen Kathryn’s immune system, the radiation treatments were far more painful than either of them had anticipated.

 

According to his readouts, the omicron therapy was working and with his tireless monitoring night and day, he was sure there would be no permanent physical damage to her organ systems from the radiation.

 

But witnessing her pain – or worse, her attempts to hide her pain – made it increasingly difficult to be objective.  Every time she clung to him with white knuckles, or wept in anger and frustration, his visual center appeared to malfunction.  His massless form seemed to weigh him down and the commands in his cognitive subroutines began to overlap, rendering him mute when she asked him simple questions he should have known the answers to.

 

While she slept, he forgot everything that was good.  He stopped listening to any music; the only literature he read were the driest of journals pertaining to her illness.  The nanite programming took up every minute he gave it and he worked at a single-minded, almost frantic pace.

 

The Doctor believed it was a tireless artificial intelligence that the Captain was benefiting from.  He never stopped long enough to examine anything less tangible that drove his systems.

 

After all, he’d fallen in love once before and was sure it never hurt as much as this did.

 

*    *    *

 

Kathryn woke slowly to find herself back on her bed and under the covers.  The insides of her mouth felt like bitter pieces of sandpaper rubbing themselves together and the strands of her hair were gelled into dry chunks of stiff rope.

 

She turned over and gasped.

 

Over the covers, the Doctor lay on his side, his eyes closed, and his body curled in a pose that suggested he’d spooned her form for the remainder of the night.

 

She smiled and when she reached out to touch his face, he woke suddenly, startling himself enough to fall backwards and completely out of bed.

 

Kathryn’s eyes went wide from his unexpected appearance-disappearance and she began to laugh.  It didn’t help when only his shell-shocked head appeared over the rim and it took her a full minute to stop.  She couldn’t tell if the aching in her sides had been from the marathon episode she’d had the previous evening or how out of shape her funny bone had been for the past year.

 

His shock turned to slight bemusement as he straightened up and stood before her.

 

“I’m glad you find it amusing.  That was the first time I’ve ever…nodded off.”

 

She sat up then, fully awake from this apparent gem of new information and motioned him to sit up against the headboard beside her.

 

“When did you add a sleeping subroutine?”

 

“I didn’t.  At least, I’m certain I didn’t.   It’s highly unlikely that I would have, considering that it goes against everything an EMH is designed for – “

 

“Well, you’ve always been exploring aspects of humanity to help with your work.  Sleep cycles are a big part of that.  Maybe you forgot?”

 

“Perhaps.”

 

He looked worried and Kathryn missed the doctor who used to make her roll her eyes in mock exasperation.  She offered up something that was sure to be the subject of a scathing observation on his part:

 

“Well, look on the bright side.  At least you can’t smell me.  I’m sure I pretty much resemble a floating garbage scow at this point.  My breath, my skin, my hair – although, this is the best diet I’ve ever been on - “

 

She peeked up at him self-consciously as she brought the robe around her tighter.  He stared at her a bit too much these days and it wasn’t the usual, clinical once-over he was known for.

 

“I read…somewhere…that once you take the mess away from what’s considered classically beautiful, it diminishes the power of that beauty.  All of this is temporary, Kathryn.  And the good news – perhaps why I ‘fell asleep’- is that the nanites are finally ready!  It’s safe to say you’ve expelled your last non-meal for quite some time.”

 

*    *    *

 

She sat barefoot on the kitchen counter – her legs crossed at the ankles - held her nose and opened her mouth as he gave her a spoonful of the sauce the _coq au vin_ was simmering in.  He waited with hopeful anticipation – ignoring the ignominy of wearing a frilly apron hand made by one of Phoebe’s daughters around his hips – and sadly took the pan off the stove as Kathryn swallowed hard, flashed him a look of nausea and shook her head in alarm.

 

They were twenty-four hours into the nanite therapy when Kathryn told the Doctor she felt stable enough for a first real meal.  The omicron treatment left her with an oversensitive nose and tongue and he took it upon himself to conjure up every recipe in his database to find her nourishment she could actually keep down.  The hours of trial and error were evident by the overflowing level of dirty pots and dishes in the sink and the stainless steel chopping island’s chaos of condiments, fresh vegetables and meats.

 

“We could just quit and replicate a pot of coffee – “ She offered.

 

“If I can muddle through three-hundred in vitro cultures of nanite-flooded blood sera, I can find at least _one_ meal you can enjoy,” the Doctor stopped for a moment, his index finger jabbing into the air, “A-ha!  Kathryn, hand me the flour, milk, two eggs, baking powder, vanilla extract – no, replicate vanilla bean, much more wholesome –“

 

As she struggled to keep up, she also struggled to keep back a burgeoning sense of joy.  To anyone else, his pristine, almost germ phobic self looked out of place in her messy kitchen.  But to Kathryn, she’d never seen him quite so happy.

 

Right there with her, he fit.

 

She looked over his shoulder as he whipped up the ingredients in a bowl with blinding speed.

 

“I have a feeling my growling stomach can’t wait for a cake.”

 

“Not a cake.  _Pan_ cakes.  Vanilla pancakes.  I just remembered reading a journal on the aromatherapy benefits of vanillin, not to mention its ability to raise levels of catecholamine –“

 

“That sounds wonderful.  Only I can’t stand maple syrup.”

 

His eyes went wide again and he smiled as if he’d just performed at the Met.

 

“Honey!  We’ll use honey instead!  For the past few weeks you could only drink hot water.  As it happens, I laced the liquid with honey, which is a natural antibacterial with low acidity.  So we know you can stomach that…”

 

The door chimed.

 

“Who could that be at this hour?” her brow furrowed and then reversed in alarm, “It’s not that Brahms woman – “

 

“Not to worry.  She’s not due until the end of the week,” The Doctor turned as he flipped two of the pancakes over and smiled cryptically, “Why don’t you see who’s there?”

 

She gave him a wary look and backed into the hallway, looked out the window and saw no one.

 

Kathryn opened the door and gazed down to find a vase of the most perfect Peace roses she’d ever seen.

 

And blanched.

 

The full effect of them had her leaning on the door jamb for support.

 

It wasn’t so much that they reminded her of her time on Voyager, or even of Chakotay.

 

The sweet - almost sickly- smell was going to make her faint.  Kathryn spied a small, white envelope sticking out of the arrangement, grabbed it and shut the door without taking the bouquet inside.

 

“Who was it?” The Doctor’s singsong voice called out.

 

Kathryn ripped open the envelope and pulled out a delicately-designed card:

 

_In all the madness and confusion, I only want to stop and remind you how much I treasure our friendship._

_The Doctor_

“Kathryn?”

 

He appeared in front of her, holding the spatula like a sword, a look of pure concern on his face.

 

“They didn’t arrive?”

 

Her eyes swam with unshed tears.

 

“They did.”

 

“I know they’re your favorite – “

 

“They were.  And thank you.  But I can’t bring them inside.  They’re beautiful but – “

 

A sad smile formed on his face.

 

“Say no more.  I understand now.  I’m sorry, I should have – “

 

Purely driven by impulse, flooded with only one feeling to go by, Kathryn put her arms around his back, lifted her chin up and kissed him.

 

Only then did her eyes spill and as she opened her mouth, the brine mixed with her saliva. 

 

But it was somehow all wrong.  He had frozen up.  The spatula was still in his right hand.

 

He didn’t want this.

 

So she pulled away, bereft, humiliated.

 

“I-I’m sorry.  I – “ She moved past him slowly, as if in a daze.

 

Without waiting for his comfort – a comfort he no doubt would now keep in check – Kathryn strode into her room and shut the door.

 

*    *    *

 

He froze not because he didn’t want to touch her.

 

God, he had wanted it more than anything.  He froze because he couldn’t smell her.

 

He couldn’t taste her.

 

And he wanted so much to be able to that it frightened him. 

 

Ever since that day in court when she reached out to hold his hand, the Doctor knew.  He could never be human.  Perhaps he could feel emotion, but as a creature of light and motion, he would never be able to _feel_ another human being the way his colleagues could so easily take for granted.  Of course, his father could write a subroutine that would allow him this ability, but after having spent precious time with Kathryn – filled with both incredible highs and devastating lows – the Doctor didn’t want any artificiality to tarnish the purity of what he felt in the depths of his being.

 

What he experienced for her rivaled anything he’d experienced before.  It was as though she had erased everything in the past that didn’t have anything to do with her.  Every memory bank featured Kathryn predominantly.  Every anecdote, every mission – however small or large her involvement – had greater meaning for him.

 

And from what he remembered and knew of her now, she deserved someone who could feel how beautiful she was.

 

*    *    *

 

As she lay on her side biting her fingernail, Kathryn heard her bedroom door creak open, shut her eyes tightly in trepidation, and held her breath.

 

“Don’t let my stupidity spoil your appetite.”

 

She sat up to see him in the dimly lit room, holding a breakfast tray topped with pancakes, a steaming mug of black coffee and a small carafe of honey.

 

“No, it was me.  _I’m_ sorry.”

 

He smiled and placed the tray over her lap, unfolded the napkin beside the plate and tucked it into the neck of her blouse.

 

“Apparently, I’m missing a kissing subroutine or I’d know how to properly reciprocate.  I should stick to opera.  Not quite the Renaissance man you were hoping for.  I can’t even manage Florence Nightingale.”

 

As she sipped her favorite cup of Arabica, Kathryn watched as the Doctor poured the honey and carved out a bite-sized first piece for her.

 

“Here goes nothing,” she smirked before opening her mouth.

 

She tasted the sweet morsel and waited for the usual wave of nausea to hit.  When it didn’t arrive, she began to chew.  And chew.  A smile formed in place of the expected grimace and she could tell from his expression that they were going to be okay.

 

“This has got to be my favorite food of all time.”


	4. Part Four

*

 

_Cowboys and angels_

_They all take a shine to you_

_Why should I imagine_

_That I was designed for you_

_Why should I believe_

_That you would stay_

*    *    *

 

It was a week before Christmas when Leah’s visit to Janeway’s abode finally took a turn for the new.  The Mark’s I’s subroutines still remained unchanged and free of mathematical variation, but his demeanor had softened somewhat.  Perhaps it had something to do with the festive season itself. 

 

When she arrived, the EMH and Janeway were decorating a tree and instead of being greeted by the usual chemical smell of a clean household, the engineer was enveloped in a haze of evergreen and holly.  During the last three sessions, the captain made an appearance, occasionally offering to make a fresh pot of coffee should Leah need a pick me up.  At this particular visit, however, the woman offered her a glass of eggnog instead – a concoction she proudly told her was made by the Doctor himself.

 

It was difficult to know whether these personality changes in both human and hologram were there to stay or just a part of the holiday season, but at least it made the mind-numbing project for Leah less dull.  Combing over scans of his subroutines – which had its own mathematical language – was tedious, especially when each week gave her nothing to go on.  She wasn’t allowed to reveal to Janeway or the EMH his lack of progress and they never tried to wheedle information out of her.  But at the two month mark, the outcome looked grim.

 

It was at the tail-end of a session one week before Christmas when the Mark I asked Leah for a favor.  She had been too surprised and curious to refuse him and she could tell from his appeal to her that he had ironed out all the details before asking.  The Doctor wanted to go Christmas shopping, but since he was not a person who needed or acquired credits to purchase anything, wondered how he could go about completing such a task.

 

Leah offered her own credits, but he refused.  Too intrigued to let him give up, she then suggested she pay him to give her a complete physical at their next session.  The Mark I was still reluctant, but ended up agreeing to the arrangement.  He assured her that there was only one gift to buy.

 

*    *    *

 

She treated the expedition to the vendor’s market as a field trip to study the EMH in a more dynamic setting.  Leah noticed how well he blended in with a crowd; no one noticed that he was of artificial intelligence except the occasional dog being walked.  The Mark I was comfortable in his own matrix, carrying a PADD that gave him the address to a high-end perfumery at the ritziest section of the shopping district.

 

She asked him no questions and he offered up no explanation for why he had chosen such a place.  Leah merely walked into the establishment with the EMH, observed how he examined each bottle – commenting on various perfume houses - and followed his cues.

 

“Monsieur et mademoiselle,” a congenial salesman stepped from behind the counter and greeted them, “What can I do for you today?”

 

The EMH pocketed his PADD and smiled back.

 

“I’m looking for something that doesn’t have roses in the top note.  In fact, I’m hoping to find something that isn’t floral at all.”

 

“Ah, a connoisseur,” the sharply-dressed man motioned them over at a polished case and opened it up, “I think I may have the perfect line for you to try.  It’s a private blend - very rare and limited edition.”

 

With a flourish, he produced three medium-sized henna-tinted bottles embossed in gold lettering and placed them side by side on the counter for the Doctor’s perusal.

 

“Voila – Oud Wood, Tobacco Vanille, et Moss Breches.  The materials used in this line are of the highest quality, and aside from the tobacco flower used in the second blend, there is not one trace of floral.”

 

Leah was surprised when the Mark I stepped aside and addressed her.

 

“This is where you come in.”

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“I can’t smell, remember?  I need you to tell me which one you prefer.”

 

The EMH caught the man’s look of confusion, then sniffled and coughed for his benefit.

 

“Congestion.  I have la grippe?”

 

After the salesman nodded and offered an empathetic smile, Leah pulled the Mark I aside.

 

“Doctor, what’s going on?”

 

“What’s it look like?  I’m trying to pick out a perfume.  In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a hologram; I can’t smell.  You’re a human; you can – “

 

“But this is not a present for me.  People’s preference for scent varies.  My opinion may not match that of your recipient’s.”

 

She was being purposefully vague, but Leah had a feeling she knew who it was for.

 

“Dr. Brahms, I’m in a bit of a quandary and you happen to be the only female I can consult.  I need to find something mature…worldly…sophisticated - but not fussy – “

 

“You want something classy.  For a person as complex as the scent should be?”

 

“Exactly.”

 

For the first time, Leah felt the inner circle widen a bit - at least enough for her to stick her nose in.

 

“Let’s roll up our sleeves and get to work.”

 

*    *    *

 

The house view screen had malfunctioned so Kathryn was in the Doctor’s office using his device to finish up a call with Gretchen. 

 

Usually, she’d spend the holidays in Indiana, but this time, the Janeway brood was planning to come to her.  Gretchen felt she could kill two birds with one stone because   Owen was hosting a big Starfleet party on Christmas Eve.  Kathryn backed out of the invitation – much to her mother’s disapproval – but she encouraged both Gretchen and Phoebe to go on without her.  Six year-old Samantha and eight year-old Henry would be tagging along with their mother.  Ever the accommodating older sister, Kathryn offered to take care of her niece and nephew for a few hours while the women attended the Paris gala.

 

She had come a long way in only two months.  The nanite therapy was working wonders and Kathryn was gaining back the energy she had lost while working on the Chimera.  Still, she kept her illness secret from her family, not wanting to worry them unnecessarily.  It allowed her to celebrate the holidays in the usual manner without making up excuses to cover up symptoms of fatigue.  And she had the Doctor to thank for all of that. 

 

It wasn’t that she hadn’t been up for a party with the Parises.  No, this year she preferred to spend Christmas Eve with her best friend instead.

 

After disconnecting the call with Gretchen, the view screen beeped again.  Thinking that her mother had forgotten to tell her something more, Kathryn tapped the console to activate the transmission.

 

It was Seven.

 

“Captain!  What a pleasant surprise!”

 

Her blonde hair had grown longer and was worn down past her shoulders.  In the frame, Kathryn could see the Southwestern details in the décor and knew the young woman was calling from Chakotay’s home.  Their shared home.

 

“Hello, Annika.”

 

“I was expecting to get the Doctor – “

 

“This is his private line.  He’s not in at the moment, but I could take a message.”

 

Why was she being so nice?  Kathryn was too numb with surprise to think.

 

“I appreciate that, Captain.  Could you pass on the message that the fetal scans are on their way for his assessment?”

 

“ ‘Fetal scans’?”

 

Seven chuckled slightly and put her right palm to her forehead.  Kathryn thought the affectation looked grotesque and struggled not to react.

 

“Of course!  I haven’t told you!  I’m pregnant.”

 

In one blinding instance, the world beneath her dropped away and the overwhelming fatigue Kathryn had been fighting returned like an icy wave breaking over her form.

 

Good God, no.

 

Please God, no.

 

_No, no, no, no, no!_

“Congratulations.  I’m very happy for you – “

 

“Thank you.  I knew you would be, but Chakotay asked me to put off telling you.  I’ll transfer your well-wishes to him after our call.  He will be relieved.”

 

“I’m sure he will be,” Kathryn turned, pretending to hear an imaginary chime, “That’s the door.  I should go.  Is there anything else you would like to leave with the Doctor?”

 

“I was going to transfer the medical charts, but I can do that offline.  It’s good to see you, Captain.”

 

“Yes, you, too.  Goodbye.”

 

She ended the transmission with a punch of the key without waiting for the ex-drone’s reply.

 

Kathryn then got up from the chair, exited the room, gently closed the door to the lab for the first time since the Doctor had moved in, calmly walked the remaining steps to her bedroom, shut the door behind her…and began to wail.

 

*    *    *

 

“Oud Wood,” the salesman took the corresponding atomizer and sprayed a square of cardstock, flapping it away from him to diffuse the scent before handing it to Leah to sniff.

 

“Top notes include an exotic rose wood and cardamom, blended with exuberant Chinese pepper – very, very warm. Eventually, the center exposes a smoky blend of rare oud wood, sandalwood and vetiver.  After a few hours wearing this heavenly design, the creamy scents of tonka bean, vanilla and amber are revealed.”

 

The Doctor studied Leah’s reaction.

 

She wrinkled up her nose and put the paper down.

 

“Smells like a Ferengi leather purse.  Or a Ferengi.”

 

The salesman looked affronted at her bourgeoisie assessment, but prepared the next scent without pausing.

 

“Tobacco Vanille,” He handed her the next sample. “It opens immediately with opulent essences of tobacco leaf and aromatic spice notes. The heart note unfolds with creamy tonka bean, the aforementioned tobacco flower, vanilla and cocoa, and finishes with a dry fruit accord enriched with sweet wood sap.”

 

The Doctor had rolled his eyes through most of the flowery description, but perked up at the prospect of a vanilla ingredient.

 

Leah had noticed the salesman’s enthusiasm drop at her last reaction and decided to temper it this time with a side-to-side head nod and a frown that suggested intense rumination on her part.

 

“It conjures up memories of molding clay, candy, and something that smells like the air-freshener sprayed in my XT-700 at the shuttle wash – “

 

Once more, the atomizer sprayed yet another piece of card stock.  This time, he placed the bottle back on the counter with an audible bang.

 

“ _Moss. Breches._ ” The cultured man almost spit the French words out, “Dark and complex, this mystical chypre combines fresh wood and warm spice notes with the delicate essence of beeswax absolute – “

 

“In other words, it has honey notes,” The Doctor snatched the card from the man’s hand and put it under her nose.

 

This time, Leah’s eyebrows went up in approval.

 

“It has…an unexpected bit of sweetness and...mint? Could be a favorite. Would I buy? Perhaps not.”

 

“ _Perhaps_ this is not the place for you, mademoiselle.  May I suggest the downtown galleria where you can get a holovid actor-inspired concoction instead?”

 

The Doctor knew an insulted patron of the arts when he saw one.

 

“I apologize for my aesthetically-challenged wife, monsieur –“

 

Leah’s eyes went wide.  ‘ _Wife’_?

 

“- but this scent is for a dear friend of mine, not her.”

 

The man looked somewhat pacified.

 

“This friend?  Is it male or female?”

 

“Female.  And she is of the highest caliber – “

 

“Describe.”

 

“She’s complicated.  Warm, yet not effusive by any means, but not cold either.  She loves classical literature and music.  She’s resilient, but has a vulnerability she often tries to hide.  She’s not young anymore, but she’ll never be old either.  She has a richness of personality and spirit…that I find difficult…well, to describe – “

 

Leah was flummoxed by the outpouring.  It was more words than he’d ever spoken in her presence.

 

“I think you described her very well, Doctor.”

 

The salesman smiled with a depth of understanding that conveyed their kinship.

 

“Wait one moment.  I have something in the back that might be…perfection.”

 

*    *    *

 

Perfection.

 

It was the only word echoing in her mind as a swollen-eyed Kathryn splashed cold water on her face and studied the semi-permanent bags underneath her blood-shot orbs.

 

Seven had spent her entire young adult life seeking and eventually achieving a reasonable facsimile of it.  Now she was married and…pregnant. 

 

And the two most prominent people in Kathryn’s life were in love with her.

 

Why else would the Doctor keep their correspondence a secret?  It explained so much why he froze up when she made the mistake of kissing him that one time.

 

Florence Nightingale, indeed.  What had happened was properly coined as ‘The Florence Nightingale _Effect_.’ Kathryn had fallen in love with her protector, her source of unending comfort and - if the nanoprobe count continued to diminish exponentially as it had been for the past few weeks – her savior as well.

 

She had been duped by her own physical frailty into having feelings for someone who could not love her back.  The indignity of it all threatened to kill her spirit.

 

Kathryn refused to feel so much emotional pain at once.  She needed a drink and the sweet, creamy rum-laced eggnog made her want to vomit.  No, she needed something infinitely stronger and far less cloying and sweet.  As sweet as Seven had been on the view screen.

 

“Computer, replicate a single serving of single-malt scotch whiskey, aged thirty years – no, make that a double – “

 

The item shimmered into existence and she grabbed the drink and headed back to her bedroom, shutting the door behind her once more.

 

The Doctor and Brahms would be back soon and she needed to appear calm and captainly once more.

 

*    *    *

 

The salesman returned with a tiny bottle of perfume that fit in the palm of his hand.  He told them that the translucent container was made of hand cut Nisserian crystal, and instead of having an atomizer attachment, the matching top ended in a long, slender stem that reached down to the very bottom.  It was filled with a rich, dark liquid.

 

“I don’t show many customers this gem because it is usually far beyond what anyone is willing to pay.  Furthermore, I have yet to find a customer who loves it as much as I do.  It needs the proper home and I can sense that your good friend is deserving of its beauty.”

 

This time, Leah took the top and dabbed only a drop of the liquid on the inside of her wrist.  She brought it up to her nose and her face opened like a sunflower facing the dawn.

 

“This is…so…like…the honeymoon trip to Morocco my husband surprised me with…and then…the woods behind our vacation house in Yosemite…and…a little of my daughter, helping me bake cookies on a rainy day…my God.  It’s amazing.”

 

The Doctor smiled, closed his eyes and tried to imagine what Leah was experiencing.

 

“What’s the perfume’s name?” she prodded.

 

The man rocked on his heels with pride.

 

“Amber Absolute.”

 

“How much is it?”

 

“Two hundred, eighty-seven credits – import tax not included.”

 

The Doctor’s hopes dropped.  It was way beyond his range –

 

“We’ll take it.”

 

He whipped around.  Leah was beaming.

 

*    *    *

 

They were stuck in shuttle traffic and she was brimming over with questions.

 

The Mark I told a lie that went beyond his programming.

 

“Why did you tell the salesman that we were married?”

 

The Doctor was holding the red and gold gift bag to his holomatrix as if something would snatch it away at any moment.

 

“I’m not sure,” he mused, “Perhaps I’d sense he’d treat us better if he knew we were a couple.  I’m wary of organics.  You never know what their reaction will be once they find out you’re a hologram.”

 

“I thought your lie about having a cold was rather quick thinking on your part.”

 

“Oh, that?  I planned that ahead of time.”

 

“So that was a premeditated lie?”

 

He looked at her as if she were insane.

 

“Naturally.”

 

“Doctor, you are quite…interesting – “

 

“I’m glad I could provoke your discriminating brain.”

 

“You don’t mind if I do another upload before I leave, do you?

 

“It’s your job,” he shrugged, “I have no say in the matter.”

 

*    *    *

 

They were in the living area, waiting for the upload to complete.

 

“Thank you for agreeing to this shopping trip.  It’s the first I’ve ever been on.”

 

“You’re very welcome.  It was a lot of…fun.  Your ‘dear friend’ is going to enjoy the gift immensely.  I’m sure of it. ”

 

Leah noticed when they arrived back that the Captain’s door was closed.  The place was as quiet as a tomb.

 

The EMH looked worried.

 

“Dr. Brahms, could you excuse me for a moment?”

 

“Certainly.”

 

The Doctor got up from his chair and disappeared down the hallway.  Several seconds passed.

 

Suddenly, she could hear a blood-curdling cry in a male voice.  The outburst sounded as though it belonged to a wounded animal.

 

Leah leapt up from her seat on the couch, rushed to the Captain’s closed bedroom door and yanked it open.

 

Next to an empty glass tumbler, an unconscious Captain Janeway was lying in the Mark I’s arms as he sat on the floor, tears (holotears?) streaming down his face.

 

“Hurry!  I need you!  She’s not breathing and you must perform mouth-to-mouth resuscitation while I get my medkit!”

 

As Leah covered the distance quickly, she tapped a key on the PADD in her hands and dropped it.

 

He was already out the door and called from the hallway as he presumably raced to his office.

 

“She still has a heartbeat, but it’s faint – “

 

“Should I start CPR?” asked Leah.

 

“No!”

 

In a flash, he was back, running a medical tricorder over the captain’s head.

 

“There’s no neural activity.”

 

He attached a cortical stimulator to her temples and Leah backed off.

 

Janeway’s body shook with the charge, but nothing changed.  The readings remained the same.  Leah continued to breathe for the Captain.

 

“Doctor, do something!”

 

“It’s my fault.  I shouldn’t have left her – “

 

“Doctor, think!  What’s next in emergency medical protocol!  Concentrate!”

 

“I – I, there’s a neurolytic stimulant I can inject her with – “

 

“Then do it now!”

 

He programmed the hypospray in his hand and brought the device up to the captain’s neck.

 

The tricorder beeped twice.  Janeway’s chest rose up as she coughed out a breath; it collapsed just as quickly, but Leah saw her torso rise and fall.

 

She was going to be okay.

 

But he wasn’t.

 

He was splayed out beside her, his face buried in her neck.

 

Sobbing.

 

The Mark I EMH was designed to anticipate any medical emergency in a calm, professional, _emotionless_ manner.  He was supposed to be immune to the crippling human despair that came with the job.

 

He wasn’t supposed to panic.

 

Leah backed away, unsure of where she belonged in this startling picture of near misses and close calls.  Her hand brushed up against the PADD she had discarded.  It was still uploading the subroutine copies and she was sure that somewhere in the data was a mathematical anomaly that could explain everything she’d just seen.

 

“Don’t go yet,” he managed to choke out.

 

Leah looked back at him, her heart racing.

 

He continued.

 

“I need to get her into bed, make sure her vital signs are stabilized, but then we need to talk.”

 

She nodded dumbly and for the first time, Leah Brahms forgot the EMH was a hologram.

 

*    *    *

 

It wasn’t possible.

 

She was scrolling down the PADD at the Doctor’s cognitive subroutine and it was as clean as a whistle.  Leah had checked, double-checked, triple – it didn’t matter.  His programming showed no evidence of what had just occurred.

 

It was baffling and disturbing.  Maybe she had made a mistake?  Configured the uploads wrong?  No, they were right.  What was she missing?

 

At the sound of the captain’s bedroom door creaking open, Leah looked up.  She heard muffled footsteps and soon, the Mark I appeared before her and sat down wearily in the chair opposite hers.

 

“You can’t tell anyone about this.”

 

The command hit Leah’s being with such force, she was speechless for a moment.  It was incredulous. 

 

“But, Doctor, this could prove –“

 

“You will not speak of this.  If you do, I will deny everything.  I will not violate my captain’s right to privacy.”

 

She was stunned.  They had less that four weeks until the tribunal reconvened.

 

And he didn’t care.

 

“So whatever data you’ve been collecting will have to be sufficient.”

 

*    *    *

 

Kathryn woke to a darkened room.  Her head throbbed with what felt like the worst hangover she’d had in history.  She slowly rose out of bed, grabbed her robe to wrap it around her body and made her way to the kitchen for a glass of water.

 

The house was bathed entirely in moonlight and she assumed that the Doctor had deactivated himself.  As she passed his office, she heard a strange rhythmic breathing, punctuated by hitches and gasps.  She pushed aside the door. 

 

In a darkened corner, sitting at his desk, the Doctor was weeping softly.

 

Her eyes filled automatically.  Lately, every emotional nerve ending seemed exposed.

 

His shoulders went up and down and she could tell he was in the throes of pain that he had difficulty diminishing.

 

She stepped slowly towards him and a creaking wooden plank underneath her foot signaled her presence.

 

He looked up in surprise, but when their eyes met, his face crumpled up again.

 

Kathryn hurried to his side this time, caressing his neck as he buried his head in her stomach and wrapped his arms around her completely.

 

After a full minute, he began to speak, but having forgotten that his mouth was obstructed by her robe, all Kathryn could hear was muffled gibberish.

 

She pulled them apart and got down on her knees in front of him as he hunched over in his chair.

 

“All of this is my fault.  I should have detected every last nanoprobe in your body after Unimatrix Zero.  If I had done what I was supposed to – designed to do – “

 

“Doctor, believe it or not, part of being human is being fallible.”

 

“I’m not supposed to be human.”

 

“But you are.  You’re the only person I want to spend Christmas with, even though my family is coming en masse in two days.  So you need to stop this and help me get ready.”

 

He swallowed and a ten-second gap of silence passed.  Within it, she could see the cogs of his programming regaining momentum.

 

“There is a prime rib roast I’ve wanted to try.  Is anyone a vegetarian?”

 

“Phoebe is, but she’ll manage.”

 

They smiled at one another and she brought their foreheads together.

 

“I guess I’m now a teetotaler.  I’m sorry that I scared you, Doctor.”

 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

 

*    *    *

 

It was 0300 hours and Leah lay awake next to her husband in bed, preoccupied by a puzzle she desperately wanted to solve.  The obsession with the Doctor’s readings had made her delinquent on her own Christmas shopping, but she didn’t care.  It wasn’t as though she now believed him to be human, however; the scientist in her was far too objective to let that win out.  What nagged her was the possibility of making human error, which in her world, was unacceptable.

 

She got up, wrapped her body in robe and slippers and walked down the stairs to her study.  Sitting at her desk, she fingered the keypad before tapping in and letting the view screen connect.

 

After ten pulses, the console beeped and a very sleepy Geordi LaForge appeared before her.

 

“Leah?  What time is it?”

 

“It’s after 0300 – “

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“It’s about the Doctor.”

 

“The Mark I?  Has he escaped?” the commander joked.

 

“I know I’m not supposed to share information until the end of his probation, but I’m not getting any anomalous readings in his programming.”

 

Geordi rubbed the sleep from his eyes and decided to settle in by placing his chin over his folded arms.

 

“Really?  None?”

 

“I’ve checked everything literally dozens of times.  I’ve recalibrated.  I’ve used different equipment – “

 

“Leah.  Stop overcompensating.  Get back to basics.  What is a hologram made of?”

 

“Photons and force fields.”

 

“Right.  And have you tried measuring any fluctuations in photonic energy?”

 

It was so simple that Leah felt like the supreme ignoramus of the year.

 

“I will now.”

 

“Good.  Now go to sleep and…try to have a happy holiday.”

 

“Thank you, Geordi.”

 

He yawned, “You’re welcome,” and signed off.

 

*    *    *

 

He couldn’t get used to the device Dr. Brahms made him wear – which closely resembled the Starling mobile emitter. 

 

She paid the Doctor and Captain an impromptu afternoon visit on Christmas Eve as the duo was busy preparing for a family dinner.  Gretchen, Phoebe and her brood were to arrive at any minute.  He was told by Kathryn that the kitchen smelled heavenly – the roast broiling in one compartment while the tofu-turkey, scalloped potatoes, chestnut wild rice and sautéed broccolini were being warmed in the other.  For dessert, the Doctor had prepared two different masterpieces – champagne sabayon for the adults and chocolate cake with cream cheese frosting for the children.

 

The repast was a feast for the eyes and during its preparation, he made Kathryn describe in great detail what each course tasted like.  She had a gift for creating imagery, lacing her words in a way that made him shut out everything else around her as she spoke. 

 

In between cooking and tasting, she tried all day to get him to change his mind about the social plan for the evening.  The Doctor wanted to spend time in his lab while everyone ate.  He claimed there was much more work to be done on her therapy and didn’t want to waste a moment.  The compromise he offered was that he would make an appearance during the escargot appetizer to introduce himself to Kathryn’s family, but after that, he would have to return to his work.

 

*    *    *

 

“He’s very funny for a hologram,” the trademarked lop-sided Janeway smirk rose from Gretchen’s face as she took a sip of the Beaujolais Nouveau.

 

Samantha and Henry had finished dessert, their impish mugs smeared in chocolate as they explored the bottom of the tree for packages with their names on them.

 

Kathryn smiled and pushed the food around on her plate.  She had barely touched it.  Her stomach was fine, but the continuous tasting that afternoon had filled her up.  And she missed him.  Having him spoon feed her a taste while he cooked was something she wanted to get used to.

 

“He’s not bad looking either,” Phoebe added, studying her sister with concern, “Don’t tell me a ‘relationship’ has progressed –“

 

Gretchen laughed.

 

“That wouldn’t be our Katie.”

 

She stared at the tree, remembering how he hoisted her up to put the star on its top.

 

“No, it wouldn’t, would it?”

 

*    *    *

 

He wasn’t avoiding the company of organics.  He really needed to work.

 

From the anxious look on Dr. Brahms’ face that afternoon, the Doctor could tell that she was exhausting every diagnostic means to find the answers he and Kathryn so desperately needed to keep him alive.

 

So everything he was doing now was in preparation should he not survive.  She needed hormone replacement therapy before her endocrine system could realign itself.  He was in the process of designing a yearly inoculation that would keep her system free of nanoprobes should any one of them escape detection again.

 

Through it all, the Doctor was fighting a difficult internal battle.  He treasured each moment alone with her, learning things that he would never have had the chance to experience in all their time on Voyager.  But at the same time, he wanted to spare her the pain of his eventual loss.  He wanted to maintain a safe distance, but couldn’t bring himself to do it just yet.

 

It was selfish of him and frustrating for him.  There was no pain in his own decompilation; he would just cease to be.  But knowing Kathryn, it would set her back in her health – the least he could expect in his passing.  And that would not do.

 

So the Doctor sat alone in his office, smiling and glancing at the door every time a joyous shout or childish squeal could be heard from beyond.  He needed her life to continue and he was comforted by the fact that she had loved ones around her who could help her forget.

 

*    *    *

 

A tiny knock was heard several hours later.  It was too small to have come from Kathryn (who was far too bold to do anything but just burst in) and the sound came from so low on the door that it couldn’t have been made by an adult.

 

“Come in,” the Doctor murmured.

 

The door cracked open and a tiny curled head of auburn hair peeked out from behind it.

 

“Hi.”

 

“Well, hello, Samantha.  Can I do something for you?”

 

She nodded vigorously and stepped into the room with what looked like a brand-new book in her hands.

 

“Is that a new present?”

 

“Yes.  Could you read it to us?  Auntie Katie says you have the best reading voice.”

 

He smiled.  Using the offspring relatives of one’s minor bipedal species to smoke him out of his hole was a sneaky move that ranked far below the advanced tactics of a Starfleet captain, but the Doctor didn’t mind.  He could use a break.

 

“Have you brushed your teeth?”

 

The little girl nodded and smiled widely to show proof, “And Henry is ready, too.”

 

“And Auntie Katie?  Where is she?”

 

“Cleaning up.  She said to start without her.”

 

*    *    *

 

The book was _The Velveteen Rabbit_ by a 20 th century American author named Margery Williams.  Gretchen had found a traditional bookshop in Indiana that sold the item with a stuffed rabbit that looked exactly like the one on its pages.

 

After the Doctor negotiated shared time with the toy between warring siblings, he began to read.  The children lay in the guest room bed, pajama-clad and under the covers, while he sat up against the headboard between them.

 

It lacked the complexity of Henry James and the winsome quality of Beatrix Potter, but the Doctor had to admit that it wasn’t half-bad.  At first, it was difficult to get past the first several pages; Samantha had a question for every description - especially every toy in the story’s nursery - and the EMH had to delve into the “Tom Paris Database” on 20th century culture to come up with quick and easy answers that would satisfy her six year-old curiosity.

 

So by the time Kathryn appeared in the doorway and plopped down into the overstuffed divan across from them, they had barely gotten into Act One.

 

*    *    *

 

He read with gusto, as if he were narrating for a crowd of thousands instead of just two of Phoebe’s children.  It was a joy to see him animated in a way that was not consumed with medicine and technology.  Even better, Kathryn took great comfort in her niece and nephew’s acceptance of who he was.  They had asked in his absence why he didn’t eat and Phoebe explained patiently that he was of artificial intelligence and didn’t need sustenance.  Niggling at the back of her mind however, Kathryn believed that what she was witnessing was the kind of sustenance he craved.

 

He was too busy getting into the various character voices – the young boy who was given the shabby, rather dull rabbit for Christmas, the wise rocking horse who knew how a toy could become real, the steadfast bunny itself and the multitude of real rabbits who emerged from the bracken to tease the hero for being made of sawdust, buttons and threadbare velveteen.

 

Only when Samantha stopped the Doctor to explain what the stricken boy’s scarlet fever was did Kathryn realize the connection between the book and her best friend.

 

“ ‘Real isn't how you are made,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but _really_ loves you, then you become Real,’ ” the Doctor read.

 

She stared at him, transfixed by the words and wondered if he had made the connection as she had.

 

*    *    *

 

He stood out on the patio, oblivious to the cold, damp air.  In his hands was a red box tied with gold ribbon.

 

Kathryn was busy getting herself an evening’s last cup of coffee and he waited for her, as nervous as a Ferengi at a pick-pocket’s convention.

 

Only a minute more passed before the sliding door whooshed open and she lowered herself onto the deck swing next to him, bundled up in a thick pea coat, scarf, hat and gloves.  He stared at the wisps of her breath as she blew on the hot mug and was reminded again of his limitations.

 

Maybe this was a bad idea.

 

“So, Doctor, what’s this ‘we should take a look at the gibbous moon this evening’ really about?” she teased.

 

God, not now.  He loved her humor, but he was about to lose his nerve.

 

Without thinking twice, he placed the red box in her lap.

 

“Merry Christmas.”

 

“When did you-?”

 

He didn’t want to be reminded of that day.

 

“Just open it, Kathryn.”

 

With bright, inquisitive eyes, she smiled and placed the steaming mug on the floor next to her and proceeded to tear the wrapping apart.

 

She took the tiny crystal bottle out of its packaging and held it up to the light of the moon.

 

“I’m told it’s the most beautiful scent ever devised by humans.  I wish I knew for sure, but I trust the source.”

 

Kathryn kissed his cheek and immediately removed her gloves, pried open the top and dabbed a drop on her inner wrist.

 

As she mashed one against the other in circular motions, the Doctor took her hand to stop her.

 

“No, just press.  Or you’ll break up the ester bonds too much.”

 

She obliged and while eyeing him the whole time, brought up a hand to sniff.

 

He relished the vision of her closing her eyes and pulling her head back in what looked like sensory joy.

 

“Oh, Doctor.  It’s perfect.  It’s exactly me.  And I never wear perfume.  How did you know?”

 

The image of her began to shimmer and skew again.  It was difficult to grab hold of his programming and make it behave.  Especially around her.

 

“I didn’t.  But I’m glad you like it.”

 

“I’ll wear it everyday – “

 

“Ah, there’s not much in there – “

 

“So then I’ll savor every drop.  Thank you.”

 

He’d done good.  In a capacity that was beyond his expertise – his mere nature – he’d done good.

 

Kathryn then pulled out an envelope from the inner pocket of her pea coat and handed it to him.

 

“Merry Christmas.”

 

He frowned, not expecting a reciprocal gift in return.

 

“Oh, stop looking like a rusted plasma conduit and open the damn thing.”

 

Inside were two balcony seat tickets to the opening of _La Boheme_ at the San Francisco Opera.

 

He was speechless.  Immediately, he checked the dates and his vision flooded again.

 

It was dated three months after the final hearing with the tribunal.

 

His happiness suddenly inflamed into anger.  How could she be so optimistic?  How could she make him yearn for something that was impossible?

 

“You don’t like it?”

 

He saw her lips quiver and knew she was about to cry.

 

“Kathryn, it’s a fantastic gift, and I would want nothing more that to spend a night at the opera with you, but the date – “

 

“If Dr. Brahms cannot prove your humanity by mathematical means, I will come forward and tell them about the nanoprobes.”

 

“No!” He got up, incensed.  “Then you’ll be put in quarantine for the better part of a year – poked and prodded and ostracized from society – “

 

“And I don’t care!  What’s one year when losing you would be forever?”

 

He paced back and forth, growing angrier by the moment.

 

“You’ve fought the good fight, Captain.  And you’ve sacrificed enough for me.  I’m just light and motion.  I’m not – “

 

“ ‘Real’?  That’s a lie and you know it.  You are more real to me in the past few months than anyone in my entire life.  I’ll decide what to say on that stand.  I know your worth to me.  It’s just too bad you don’t know it yourself.”

 

She grabbed the tickets and got up abruptly, her gloves falling from her lap. 

 

As the sliding door opened and shut behind her, he could see how cold her hands must have been during their argument and more than anything, he wished he could have taken back what was said and had held them instead.


	5. Part Five

*

 

_Take this man to your bed_

_Maybe his hands will help you forget_

_Please be stronger than your past_

_The future may still give you_

_A chance_

*    *    *

 

The final hearing to address the Doctor’s rights was a closed session.

 

Members of the panel, Dr. Leah Brahms, a Starfleet attorney, Tuvok, the Captain and the EMH were the only permitted attendees that day.  The Federation wanted to keep the proceedings from becoming a cauldron of activism and possible violence.

 

To some degree, the Doctor agreed, but for different reasons.  Having his colleagues, his father and Reg present for his sentencing would only make his remaining time more difficult.  The real reason however, was that he selfishly wanted his last moments to be with the organic he had grown to love, the only person, entity, life form – organic or holographic – he was now convinced he had ever loved.

 

Kathryn sat next to him in the courtroom once more, her hand in his, their fight forgiven but not forgotten.  She was cryptic that morning, unwilling to answer him when he asked if she still planned to reveal everything about her illness.  He realized what she was doing; in case nothing worked, she didn’t want her last memories of him to be of them arguing.

 

“The panel would like to call to the stand Dr. Leah Brahms.”

 

The side door opened and she briskly walked the several meters to the witness box, a portable computer under one arm and a briefcase in the other.

 

“Dr. Brahms, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?”

 

She held her hand up, “I do,” and sat down.

 

The first thing Leah addressed was the lack of mathematical anomalies in the EMH’s subroutines.  Geordi nodded in assent, having been the only member of the panel who knew this fact way ahead of time.

 

The lights dimmed and on the view screen behind her, she pointed out fragments of his cognitive, ethical, music, dance and various other subroutines.  She provided a chart of which programs were in greater use than others.  It didn’t help the Doctor that his recreational subroutines had been neglected in the past three months, but as he sat listening to each detail, he didn’t care.

 

Kathryn squeezed his hand periodically, reminding him that she was very much alive.  And that was all that mattered.

 

The room grew quiet as Leah described a baseline that never changed during the course of her time observing the Mark I.  The Doctor could tell from the looks on the panel’s faces that they weren’t surprised.  He wasn’t either.

 

“Dr. Brahms, does this conclude your data regarding the Voyager Mark I EMH?”

 

“No.  It does not.”

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

The smug ‘Fleet lawyer had expected her testimony to end at this point.  He had a lunch date with a very important client in less than an hour.

 

The room began to hum with a collective buzz of conversation.  Admiral Paris banged the gavel.

 

“Order!  Go on, Dr. Brahms.”

 

She tapped the console of her computer and the lights dimmed once more.  This time, the view screen behind her showed a colored silhouette of the Doctor’s form.

 

“As we all know, holograms are made up of photons and force fields.  This is a representation of the Doctor’s photonic energy.  For three weeks, I installed infrared cameras in Captain Janeway’s residence without her knowledge –“

 

Kathryn’s eyes narrowed as she glared at the Doctor.  He shrugged; he had no idea either.

 

“- During that time period, the Mark I wore a photoelectric meter that measured the fluctuations in energy within his holomatrix.  Observe.”

 

Leah tapped in a few commands. 

 

An infrared holovid of the patio came up.  Both the Captain and the EMH easily recognized it as the events of Christmas Eve.  The Doctor’s silhouette was dark blue in color, but as soon as Kathryn entered the frame – without having sat beside him yet – his make up changed from blue to green.  The closer she sat to him, the warmer the color became, until at the point their argument was in full swing, he was as red as the soil on Mars.

 

“I’ve marked indigo as a baseline state of rest.  The more agitated the Doctor appears to be, the higher the photonic frequency.  Now admittedly, photons react to the gravitational pull of other objects.  The Captain’s body may have stimulated this reaction purely through the laws of physics, but observe this next holovid – “

 

Leah tapped the computer again.  This time, the camera captured her silhouette at the door as the Doctor greeted her.

 

“That’s me paying a visit – “

 

The Doctor’s form never went beyond the indigo range of color.

 

“Apparently, my gravitational pull has no affect on the EMH – “

 

She clicked to another holovid – this time the one where the Doctor greeted and hugged each member of Kathryn’s family.

 

“Again, no change,” she paused the vid at the moment Kathryn’s form passed him, “but see there – he’s gone from indigo to yellow in less than 0.58 seconds – and the Captain hasn’t even come into contact with the EMH.”

 

The lights came up.

 

Leah looked over at the panel.  Geordi was smiling.

 

“And what is your conclusion, Dr. Brahms,” he asked.

 

She gazed into the gallery and focused on the way Kathryn’s fingers were intertwined with the Doctor’s.

 

“It is my professional opinion based on observations on numerous occasions –“

 

The EMH shook his head at her, as if to warn her not to take that one step further –

 

“ – that the Voyager Mark I is a sentient being, capable of human emotion on a complex level, as proven by the photonic fluctuations of his holomatrix in tense, personal situations.”

 

“Thank you, Dr. Brahms,” the Starfleet lawyer begrudgingly offered and turned, “Your witness, Mr. Tuvok.”

 

The Vulcan approached Leah and stopped in a measured stance before her.

 

“Dr. Brahms, what do you believe is one characteristic that makes one human?”

 

“Our capacity to lie or tell the truth.”

 

“I see.  In all your time with the EMH, have you ever observed him telling a lie?”

 

She paused, but not for very long.

 

“Certainly.”

 

Leah proceeded to describe the shopping trip in great detail, but to the Doctor’s relief, omitted how they had found Kathryn soon after.

 

When she was finished, Dr. Brahms could have crossed the length of the room and left, but instead, she made her way down the center and sat behind the couple in solidarity.

 

Tuvok stood.

 

“The petitioning party would like to call to the stand Captain Kathryn Janeway.”

 

*    *    *

 

She looked at him from where she sat and she could tell that he wanted someone or something to intervene.

 

Kathryn offered him a lopsided smirk instead.

 

_That’s what you get for saving my life._

 

Tuvok asked her a few opening questions about her definition of ‘humanity’ before giving her the floor.  She recalled the moment the Doctor fell asleep on his own and a few white lies he had told, but nothing too revealing.

 

“Captain, can you offer anything more you believe is pertinent to these proceedings?”

 

She took a deep breath and their eyes met.  There was a look of despair on the Doctor’s face.  He could read her so well by now.

 

“A year ago, dormant nanoprobes in my body were reactivated during a deep space mission to the Beta Quadrant.  I sought the Doctor’s help to treat what turned out to be a life-threatening condition.  In order to obtain the technology and information to study and treat my disease, he encouraged me to petition this tribunal.  For the last ninety days, he has effectively cured me of Borg infestation, knowing full well that he will be decompiled at the culmination of this hearing.

 

What Dr. Brahms has left out of her testimony - at the Mark I’s request – is that she witnessed my body in neuroleptic shock.  During the course of emergency intervention, the Doctor went into a panic mode, unable to access key information to revive me.  It took Dr. Brahms’ auditory support and focus in order to get the EMH back on track.

 

No hologram has ever disobeyed his programming to such a degree – endangering himself and those he is designed to protect and serve.  The only explanation I can offer is that he is…human.”

 

At the end of her testimony, the Captain sat back down in her seat next to the Doctor, but he wouldn’t take her hand again.  He couldn’t look at her.

 

*    *    *

 

It was his turn and the room swam before him, making it difficult to concentrate.

 

“Doctor, is the Captain’s testimony true?”

 

He tipped his head to one side and blinked once.

 

“No, it isn’t.”

 

“Then the Captain is lying?”

 

“No. Yes.  No.  YES!”

 

“Doctor, is it written anywhere in your ethical subroutine where it is appropriate to lie?”

 

“I apologize.”

 

“Regarding?”

 

“No, what was the question?”

 

He was flailing.  And it looked familiar.  Kathryn edged over in her seat, gripping the back of the chair in front of her.

 

“When it is appropriate to lie – yes.  In a military situation to aid the crew during a hostile takeover – “

 

“What of situations that do not endanger patients or crew? Why did you lie about Captain Janeway’s illness?”  Tuvok turned around and picked up Kathryn’s medical PADD.

 

“We have records signed by Dr. Jacqueline Pulaski that give us a direct timeline, proving that what the Captain says of her illness is indeed fact.  Do you deny it?”

 

“I obviously can’t.”

 

“Then why lie?”

 

The court room went silent.  She looked at him and his vision darkened.  He saw pity; he saw regret.  He saw what he wanted to see.

 

“Because I believed….I believed….I believed I was…falling in…love with her…”

 

“You believed, or you knew?”

 

Kathryn stood.  He still wouldn’t look at her.

 

“I thought.  I don’t know – “

 

“Was it similar to what you felt with Denara Pel?”

 

“No, no!  It was nothing like that.  It was…painful in a way that never was with Denara.  She left, but I always knew she was alive.  The Captain was dying – “

 

“But you lost many crewmen during your time on Voyager, Doctor.  Perhaps you would feel the same if I died?”

 

“No!  No, it’s not the same.  Forgive me, Commander, but – “

 

“Explain, Doctor - take your time.”

 

He stared hard at Tuvok for five seconds.  And then it spilled forth.

 

“Have you ever hated someone because you love them?  How the moment you know everything about them is the moment they could be taken away?  And what could you do?  How could you start over?  Would there be a point to living?  To working, to being?  Do you pull away and risk losing their love to protect yourself or do you set aside everything you believe in to make them happy? 

 

And does it make sense that I was happy that I didn’t have to share her with a entire facility filled with physicians like me – especially when it could have raised her odds of survival?  Was it right to selfishly want to treat her myself?  To find great pride and comfort in the fact that she trusted no one but me?  Even if that trust endangered her life?

 

How…please, Tuvok, tell me….how is that love?...how…how…is…that….”

 

Kathryn’s eyes went wide.

 

The loop.  It was happening again.

 

They needed to upload him and erase her from his memory.

 

But first – in case it was too late and he was lost forever – she wanted his last moment of consciousness to be flooded with them. 

 

Just them.

 

Kathryn weaved her way down the aisle, bounded over, climbed the few steps to stand at the level where he was in the box, took him by the back of the head with both hands – and kissed him.

 

She communicated every feeling she had in the past three months in that one kiss.  She pried his mouth open with her tongue, ignored the collective gasp around her and began to cry, tears streaming down her face and mixing with her saliva once again –

 

*     *     *

 

His fingers flexed around her back and as he almost collapsed into her, he suddenly felt the warmth of her up against him.

 

Her tongue felt wet, hot.  He opened his mouth to receive her and suddenly everything in the world activated.

 

He could taste her, the briny sweetness of her mouth mixed with tears.  The ghost of a mint she had popped that morning.

 

Oh God, and he could smell her.

 

He could smell her underneath the most gorgeous scent – layers upon layers.  He could see exotic planets he had once visited, now understanding in a flash moment what a piece of ripe fruit must taste like, a blooming flower’s nectar must smell like, the green of a crushed fern from under his boot.  The earthy smell of soil and dust.  The warm smell of baking.  The sweetness of the vanilla pancakes topped with honey he had made for her that morning.  The bitterness of the coffee she drank before they entered the courtroom.

 

It was all there.  It was all for him to feel.

 

And he could feel her.  Really _feel_ her.

 

He could finally feel how beautiful she was.

 

*    *    *

 

They were told to wait in the conference room as Tuvok met with the panel behind closed doors.

 

They sat close to one another on a couch in the corner and he found it difficult to stop touching her with his fingertips, marveling at the softness of her cheek, the cold spot on the tip of her nose and when his index finger traveled to her mouth, and she parted her lips and sucked on it greedily – the sensation was beyond anything he’d ever imagined.

 

How did humans ever get any work done?

 

“So you can really feel that?” she husked.

 

“More than you could possibly appreciate.”

 

“Oh, I don’t know – “

 

“No, you don’t, Kathryn.  You’ve lived with sensation all your life.   I’m just beginning.”

 

“How did this happen?”

 

He shrugged and she couldn’t help but tease him.

 

“So there’s not even one iota of scientific curiosity on your part?”

 

“Let the Mark II deal with that – “

 

She laughed and laughed and the only way he could silence her was with a nerve-shattering kiss.

 

*    *    *

 

All it took after that was a simple blind taste test to determine that the Mark I EMH created by Dr. Lewis Zimmerman and activated by Ensign Harry Kim on Stardate 48308.2 was truly, irrevocably, unequivocally…human.

 

While walking out of the building, Kathryn and the Doctor were bombarded by various Starfleet brass and division representatives.  Most were congratulatory and all requested opportunities to meet with the EMH at a later date – not to have him poked and prodded (since his rights now protected him from such a thing) – but offer funding for the new treatments he had developed that could aid in the Borg rebellion as well as treat survivors of assimilation.

 

But all the Doctor could think about was getting Kathryn home.  Every time he brushed up against her on their walk to the hovertrain station, he ached to nuzzle his face into the nape of her neck – where he knew the dab of perfume was the strongest and the oils from her hair diffused them into the air.  He savored the warmth of her fingers as she touched his face, the flutter of her eyelashes on his cheeks when she stopped to kiss him.

 

He forgot about everything he once cared about – whether Puccini or Verdi wrote _Carmen_ – or was it Bizet?  It didn’t matter.  He wasn’t just a database of information anymore.  He was Real.  And it was all because she loved him.

 

*    *    *

 

He was everything she had ever wanted and the best part about it was that he had as much to teach her as she, him.

 

Having been newly-inducted into the realm of touch, the Doctor was remarkably sensitive.  Kathryn had always wanted a lover who was as responsive as she was and there was nothing artificial about his passion.

 

His fingers roamed everywhere, committing her erogenous zones to memory and finding areas that made her moist by merely skimming his hand over them.  Perhaps it was the new endocrine therapy he had instituted just days before the final hearing, but Kathryn had never felt more womanly.

 

His gentle non-sexual ministrations, the way his eyes roamed over her with new knowledge, his worshipful attention to her body as well as her entire being - all of it was a natural aphrodisiac.  And none of it was an act meant to achieve perfection.  His fascination was real, intense and devoted.  She was his first and always.

 

And he was tireless in his need to be consumed by her, to fill her and feel the wet, pink tightness of her mouth, her vaginal walls.  To explore her in a way that no lover had ever asked or thought of, merely because they had always known what was it was like to feel and had forever after taken it for granted.

 

*    *    *

 

“Doctor, you need a name.”

 

He was fanning out her hair on his bare chest as they lay over the blankets on the bed.  Their lovemaking sessions had blurred into one long epic by now.  He enjoyed watching her sleep and sometimes he let himself drift off as well.  But he didn’t understand how this particular subject had come up all of sudden.

 

“I don’t see why this is important.”

 

“Let me put it this way:  how would you feel if you had to call me ‘captain’ during sex?”

 

He looked down and met her gaze as she picked up her head and rested her chin on one hand.

 

“I suppose it feels a bit clinical for you,” he conceded.

 

“Exactly.”

 

“I’m no good at picking names.  And I’ve become a bit superstitious regarding them anyway.”

 

“How so?”

 

“Every time I’ve been named by a love interest, she’s died or left me.”

 

“I guess you have to pick the right name, then.  Nothing too esoteric.  I’m not sure the neighbors want to hear me shouting Oh, Schweitzer or Oh, Schmullus at the moment of climax.”

 

He nipped her cheek, sighed and appeared pensive.

 

“I’m sure it’ll come to me someday.”

 

*    *    *

 

It was during an intermission of _La Boheme_ when the Doctor pulled Kathryn onto a circular couch in the center of the lobby.  A large bouquet of seasonal spring flowers spilled over the center, hiding their faces from view like that of a weeping willow.

 

She was dressed in a plunging neck and backless emerald dress made of some luxurious silken material the Doctor had bought for her with his first batch of credits.  Everything she owned since they had been living together as a couple was an exercise in sensuality.  He preferred her clad in velvet and cashmere when it was cold; silk and the thinnest of cotton when it was warm. 

 

It wasn’t practical considering that they would soon embark on a mission together – she, captaining a new and improved Voyager and he, her Chief Medical Officer – but as a compromise, her lingerie drawer was filled with all manner of beautiful things to touch.

 

He had also become a bit of a perfume fanatic as well.  She now had half a dozen scents for every occasion and the Doctor always knew where the best and newest could be found.  He wanted nothing less for her and she reveled in his attention, the way he could recall something she’d admired in passing with such perfect clarity.

 

And she never tired of his humor.  In every venue they frequented or happened upon, the couple had made a habit of finding a place where they could be partially obscured or in a crowded enough area to be completely ignored – all in the effort to study the people walking by and make biting observations about anyone who looked as though they might deserve it.

 

Right now, they had zoomed in on a couple having an argument.  Both man and woman had their faces turned from Kathryn and the Doctor, but it was clear from the tenseness of the male’s shoulders and the animated way in which the female gestured with her hands that they were close to causing a scene.

 

“He seems resigned.  And he needs a new exercise regimen,” the Doctor commented.

 

“And she’s pregnant, the cad.  Why go out?  Fighting at home is less expensive.”

 

The blond woman turned around and both were stunned silent.

 

It was Seven.  And the poor, sad, bloated gentleman to her left was…Chakotay.

 

Kathryn was so stunned that she covered her mouth before the snort of a laugh burst forth.

 

“I’m sorry,” she cleared her throat, trying to put on her best straight face.

 

“Why?  I’m not,” the Doctor deadpanned.

 

They both erupted in giggles.  And the more they tried to suppress them, the harder it was to stop.

 

Suddenly, two older men walked into view, looking vaguely familiar and very Starfleet despite their twinnish tuxedos.  One had a dark mustache and salt and pepper hair, while the other was clean-shaven with a bit of a paunch.

 

“Why it _is_ the Doctor!”

 

Both Kathryn and the EMH were pulled out at this point.

 

“Hullo there! Let me introduce ourselves.  I am Montgomery Scott – “ the mustachioed man offered, “and this man over here is Peter Kirk, nephew to the James T. of the same name.”

 

“I-I-I’m honored – “ the Doctor could barely manage, his eyeballs about to fall out of their sockets.

 

Kathryn observed everyone shaking hands, noticed from the corner of her eye that Seven had stomped off to the ladies’ room and signaled to her lover that she was going to say ‘hi’ to Chakotay. 

 

The Doctor’s smile turned into a nervous grimace – willing her with his eyes into staying should he need a life preserver.   Nevertheless, Kathryn knew he was in good hands and with the swing of her hips, headed over to the center of the room to close a chapter in her life once and for all.

 

*    *    *

 

Chakotay was gripping Seven’s purse with one hand and sipping a drink in the other when a tap on his shoulder made him turn around.

 

Spirits, she was beautiful.

 

“Hi!”

 

She looked just like the day they had met, more than seven years before – except that her long hair was down and the youthful green gown she wore was definitely not Starfleet issue.

 

“Hello, Kathryn.  You look…amazing.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Are you here alone?”

 

He was hopeful.  Either that or it was the old flirt she brought out in him.

 

“Nope.  The Doctor’s over there – shanghaied by Scott and Kirk, if you can believe it.”

 

He glanced to where her chin jutted out and he couldn’t help but notice the swan-like expanse of skin, how creamy it was and how much he missed –

 

“Captain.”

 

Seven had returned, linking her arm possessively in his from behind.  Dammit, he hated when she snuck up on him like that.

 

Kathryn only offered up a smile.

 

“Annika!  I was just going to tell Chakotay how wonderful it is to bump into you two.  I had no idea that either one of you was a fan of opera – “

 

“According to various studies, music greatly affects the developing fetus.  I’ve made a conscious effort to introduce our baby to the fine arts.”

 

“That sounds…wonderful – “

 

“I only wish that it did not make the little one kick so much,” Seven rubbed her expanding belly in discomfort, “I have episodes of acid reflux that interfere with my – “

 

“I’m sure the Captain doesn’t need to know that, love.”

 

“I wouldn’t have this problem if you had remembered to pack my hyposprays,” her voice rose and Chakotay cringed.

 

Seven turned to Kathryn as a potential ally.

 

“I’m sure you don’t have this problem with the Doctor, do you, Captain?”

 

A flash of unease passed over her face and he could tell that she didn’t want to get involved.

 

“He has his moments, but don’t we all?  Well, it was lovely to reconnect, if only for a moment.  Enjoy the rest of the opera.”

 

And with that, she glided off, colliding playfully into the Doctor, who happened to be embroiled in an intense conversation with Scott.  Chakotay’s eyes lingered on Kathryn as she wrapped her arms around the EMH and lay her head on his back, waiting patiently for him to finish.

 

It was true then.  She was happy.

 

*    *    *

 

Chakotay used his opera glasses to find them in the crowd.  It wasn’t difficult.  Kathryn’s dress was burned into his memory, never mind sticking out clearly in a sea of mostly black and white.

 

While Seven concentrated on the drama unfolding on the stage, he focused on Kathryn’s profile from above.  She, too, seemed engrossed in the music as the Doctor sat to her left, paying more attention to her than the opera.  But it was more than that to Chakotay; the EMH was taking pleasure in her reaction.

 

At one point in the evening, the Doctor went as far as to purposely slide the green strap of her dress until it fell past her shoulder.  Chakotay watched with envy as the hologram kissed the spot that lay bare and quickly moved the strap back to its proper place.

 

It was true then.  They were a couple.

 

*    *    *

 

The hovertaxi line was long, but Kathryn and the Doctor finally made it to the head of the queue and piled in.

 

“That was perfect,” she beamed.

 

“I thought you’d hate it.  You always did on Voyager.”

 

“That was before you explained to me all the intrigue behind the plot, the characters.  It makes all the difference.”

 

She lay her tired head on his shoulder and suddenly it came to him.

 

“I think I have a name.”

 

Kathryn tilted her head back to face him.

 

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense!”

 

The Doctor grimaced slightly, bracing himself for her disapproval.

 

“What do you think of… ‘Monty’?  As in ‘James Montgomery’?”

 

 “Monty,” her husky voice caressed over the syllables, “I like it.”

 

She smiled, “So then Montgomery is not a last name?”

 

“No.  I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

 

She picked up his right hand and as she interlaced her fingers with his, one of them absently rubbed up against his mobile emitter.

 

“How about… ‘James Montgomery _Janeway_ ’?”

 

His eyes widened.

 

“Kathryn, what are you saying?”

 

She looked down, avoiding his gaze for a moment and tugged at the band around his finger.

 

“Release it for a second and I’ll show you.”

 

He tapped a hidden key and she slid the circlet off his ring finger and transferred it to the corresponding one on his left hand.  The _correct_ hand.

 

With a smile, Kathryn and Monty met in the middle, sealing their bond with a kiss.

 

*    *    *

 

_Don’t you know_

_At your fingertips arrayed_

_There’s a universe of atoms that thinks you’re real somethin’?_

_Don’t you know_

_Just a couple of lips away_

_There’s a revolutionary bean-feast whose insides are jumpin’?_

 

_So you won’t mind if I kiss you now_

_We may hear the angels recite:_

_Don’t you know, in this new Dark Age,_

_We’re All Light?_

 

 

FIN


End file.
